HUGH  CRAWFORD 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  MAN  WAS  HUGH  CRAWFORD, 
AND  THE  WOMAN  


BEFORE  THE  WAR 

OR, 

The  Return  of  Hugh  Crawford 


BY 

ELDEE  KEESING 


ILLUSTRATED 

BY 
ROBERT  J.  DAVISON 


SEATTLE,  WASH. 
1915 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE   AUTHOR 


COPYRIGHT  1915 

BY 
ELDEE  KEESING 


PRESS  OF 

CURTIS-JOHNSON  PRINTING  CO. 
CHICAGO,  ILL. 


DEDICATED 

TO 
MY  MOTHER 


1966151 


INDEX 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS 1 

II.  LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM 13 

III.  A  MAN  OF  PLEASURE 27 

IV.  MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR 39 

V.  RIFTS 57 

VI.  ELEANOR 71 

VII.  BROKEN  PROMISES 85 

VIII.  MAN'S  INHUMANITY 97 

IX.  MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN Ill 

X.  WHEN  You  PLAY  WITH  LOVE 129 

XL  I  WANT  TO  BE  FREE 145 

XII.  DIVORCE 163 

XIII.  AN  ACCIDENT 185 

XIV.  A  WARNING 201 

XV.  THE  REVOLUTIONISTS 211 

XVI.  THE  JAPANESE  IDOL 221 

XVII.  THE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR 233 

XVIII.  SONIA,  COUNTESS  RAMONIFF 243 

XIX.  ST.  PETERSBURG 261 

XX.  BURNING  BRIDGES 273 

XXI.  AN  OLD  WEDDING  RING 281 

XXII.  SUCCESSFUL 293 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  MAN  WAS  HUGH  CRAWFORD,  AND 

THE  WOMAN Frontispiece 

PAGE 

THE    RUSSIAN   THREW   HIMSELF   BACK 

AMONG  THE  CUSHIONS 139 

To  OUR  LITTLE  FATHER  !    To  OUR  CZAR    226 


Vll 


Before  The  War,  or  The  Return 
of  Hugh  Crawford 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    WHITE    CHRISTMAS. 

It  was  Christmas  night.  The  moon  was  shining  from  a  sky 
dotted  with  stars  and  the  moon-beams  streamed  into  the  snow- 
covered  garden  of  the  old  Hamilton  place,  making  a  wierd, 
mysterious  picture  of  lights  and  shadows  as  it  fell  on  tree  and 
bough;  even  beautifying  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  with 
its  silvery  splendor. 

Anne  Hamilton  stood  at  the  window  of  her  room,  gazing 
into  the  night,  watching  for  Hugh  Crawford.  She  and  her 
aunt  owned  the  beautiful  old  house  they  lived  in,  but  it  was 
Miss  Hamilton  alone  who  managed  everything ;  from  the  edu 
cation  of  Anne,  whom  she  loved  with  protective  tenderness,  to 
the  smallest  particular  of  comfort  and  elegance  of  their  daily 
life.  She  paid  everything  and  she  was  never  idle,  and  though 
naturally  aggressive,  was  a  lovable,  womanly  woman  of  fine 
intelligence  and  upright  nature. 

Anne  was  a  small,  dark  creature  with  magnificent  black  eyes, 
and  of  the  type  that  remains  immutable  in  spite  of  per 
suasions.  In  all  her  healthy,  well-guarded  life  she  had  been 
kept  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  dangers  but  she  was  so  in 
tense — so  excessively  temperamental,  thrilling  with  the 
exuberance  of  youth  and  the  joy  of  living,  that  she  con 
stantly  shocked  her  practical  aunt.  She  came  of  gentle  peo- 


2  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

pie,  for  her  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  peer  and  her  father 
was  a  highly  cultured  Scotch-American  who,  with  his  only 
sister,  had  inherited  some  money,  which  by  shrewd  invest 
ments  he  had  made  into  a  great  fortune.  It  was  while  on 
one  of  his  business  trips  to  Great  Britain  that  he  met,  wooed, 
and  won  Anne  Ridgway  and  brought  her  to  his  home  in 
La  Conner. 

A  year  later  the  lovely  English  girl  lay  in  a  huge,  old- 
fashioned  bed  of  the  great  chamber,  staring  into  the  pink, 
crumpled  face  of  the  little  daughter  beside  her.  With  lov 
ing  hands  she  touched  the  soft,  curling,  black  hair  crowning 
the  tiny  babe,  then  turned  to  her  husband. 

Donald  Hamilton,  humbly  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  tried 
to  return  his  dying  wife's  smile  as  she  seemed  to  settle  down 
nearer  the  child.  When  she  gathered  her  failing  strength, 
and  lay  her  arms  around  her  husband's  neck,  he  made  an 
effort  to  speak,  but  she  would  not  have  heard,  for,  with  a 
deep  sigh  of  happiness,  the  young  wife  passed  quietly  away. 

Heredity  is  a  strange  thing. 

Many  years  before  our  story,  the  grandfather  of  Donald 
Hamilton  had  married  a  Spanish  woman.  She  had  lived  to 
a  great  age,  much  loved  for  her  impulsive  warmth  of  heart, 
greatly  admired  for  her  dark,  picturesque  beauty,  and  greatly 
feared  for  her  sharp  temper.  She  had  worried,  and  stormed, 
and  raged,  because  none  of  the  Hamilton  children,  or  grand 
children,  looked  like  her.  They  were  a  sturdy,  red-haired 
family,  showing  no  trace  of  the  Spanish  blood  infused  into 
their  race,  but  if  the  old  lady  could  have  seen  Anne,  she 
would  have  been  gratified,  for  the  great-granddaughter  born 
in  America  to  Donald  Hamilton  and  his  blond  English  wife, 
was  distinctly  of  Spanish  type. 

"Why,  she's  like  Grandmother!"  Miss  Hamilton  gasped, 
when  the  nurse  brought  the  child  to  her.  She  looked  with 
perplexity  at  the  dark  creature  with  the  mass  of  blue-black 


A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS.  3 

hair  and  great  dark  eyes,  so  like  the  portrait  hanging  in  the 
parlor.  "Yes!"  she  muttered.  "She's  Spanish." 

The  baby,  gentle  and  ingratiating  in  manner,  wound  her 
self  around  her  aunt's  heart  and  when  Donald  Hamilton 
died,  he  gave  his  little  daughter  Anne  into  his  sister's  lov 
ing  care. 

"You've  been  like  a  mother  to  me,  Mary,  and  you'll  guard 
her?" 

"Indeed  I  will,  Donald.  She's  our  own  blood  and  I'm 
thankful  to  have  her." 

Donald  Hamilton  did  not  smile,  but  a  happy  expression  was 
on  his  face,  fixed  by  the  Great  Sculptor,  and  Mary  Hamilton, 
bending  her  head  over  the  little  child  left  to  her  care,  gave 
vent  to  the  tremendous  sorrow  which  tore  her  heart  and 
soul,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Relatives  in  England  tried  to  get  possession  of  the  child 
but  she  was  under  her  aunt's  guardianship  until  her  eight 
eenth  birthday,  and  Miss  Hamilton  devoted  her  life  to  the 
girl. 

Anne,  dark  and  vivacious,  but  with  a  langourous  charm  of 
manner,  was  not  aggressive  and  usually  attained  her  desires 
by  insidious  perseverance  hidden  under  a  patient  demeanor. 
She  had  the  Scotch  strength  of  will,  and  when  she  saw  she 
could  not  cajole,  would  storm,  or  doggedly  wait  for  what 
she  desired.  She  was  not  militant,  as  was  her  aunt,  although 
she  made  a  slave  of  that  warlike  lady. 

She  was  ripening  into  womanhood  and  wanted  to  dance 
and  sing  and  work,  not  knowing  that  nature  was  arousing  her 
emotions.  She  often  electrified  her  aunt  by  her  astoundingly 
unreserved  queries.  For  instance,  one  summer's  day,  she 
was  in  the  garden  quietly  sewing  under  Miss  Hamilton's 
direction. 

"Why  do  most  people  get  married?  "Why  didn't  you?" 
she  asked  impulsively,  and  seeing  that  her  aunt  changed 
color  and  stared,  she  added  politely.  "Didn't  you  want  to?" 


4  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Yes,  I  wanted  to  marry,  dear." 

"Well,"  persisted  the  girl,  "why  didn't  you?" 

"The  man  I  loved  didn't  ask  me,"  Miss  Hamilton  an 
swered  simply  though  she  was  much  annoyed  and  added 
severely,  "I  am  surprised  at  your  question,  Anne.  I  can't 
understand  such  unnatural  curiosity.  Has  any-one  been  talk 
ing  nonsense  to  you?  When  I  was  young,  girls  didn't  think 
of  such  things,  but  I  suppose  it's  the  fault  of  co-education — 
of  allowing  intimacies  between  boys  and  girls." 

The  good  lady  would  have  been  astonished  had  she  known 
how  many  hours  Anne  and  Hugh  Crawford  spent  together, 
and  how  completely  the  youth  had  magnetized  the  heart  out 
of  the  sweet,  sensitive  girl's  keeping,  but  Miss  Hamilton  did 
not  take  Crawford  seriously,  although  she  was  not  sorry 
that  he  was  leaving  La  Conner,  and  considered  him  a  silly 
young  fool. 

"His  trip  to  Europe  will  put  an  end  to  their  boy  and  girl 
flirtation  and  Anne  will  forget  him  after  a  month  or  two. 
She  is  not  the  kind  to  sit  in  a  corner  and  mope  for  an  absent 
lover,  and  there  is  nothing  serious  between  them,"  she 
thought.  "They'll  imagine  they  are  heartbroken — for  a  day 
or  two." 

But  she  didn't  understand  the  nature  of  the  girl  she  loved 
so  devotedly. 

"In  a  few  years  you'll  be  getting  married,  too,"  she  told 
Anne  after  they  returned  from  the  Deak-Hardeen  wedding 
in  New  York  where  Anne  had  been  one  of  the  bridesmaids. 
"Some  day  a  fairy  prince  will  come  for  you  and  lead  you  to 
the  altar,  and  you'll  have  the  protection  of  a  good  man's 
love." 

"Perhaps  he  will  come  in  disguise,"  Anne  laughed, 
shrewdly  looking  into  her  aunt's  eyes.  "He  might  be  here 
now." 

"I  am  quite  sure  he  is  not,"  Miss  Hamilton  answered  with 
asperity.  "You'll  recognize  him  when  he  appears." 


A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS.  5 

The  conversation  had  dropped  when  Dora  brought  tea. 
The  elderly  woman  glanced  uneasily  at  the  girl.  "I  wonder 
if  I  ever  will  understand  the  child,"  she  mused.  "She's  so 
different  from  the  rest  of  us."  She  would  have  been  more 
perplexed  if  she  could  have  looked  in  on  Anne's  mind. 

Christmas  night  had  come  again  and  little  Anne  waited 
for  Hugh  Crawford.  He  was  going  to  Berlin  to  complete 
his  medical  studies,  and  she  was  disturbed.  She  knew  his 
pleasure-loving  nature,  and  fear,  coupled  with  a  surge  of 
sorrow,  swept  over  her.  The  poignancy  of  grief  was  a  new 
experience  to  the  girl  who  could  not  understand  the  agony 
of  presentiment  which  oppressed  her. 

"I'm  selfish  and  unreasonable,"  she  thought  sombrely, 
"and  Hugh  is  gentle  and  kind,  just  as  a  doctor  should  be.  / 
believe  in  him.  If  he  were  poor,  he'd  do  big  things.  Auntie 
says  he  has  the  capacity  to  learn  and  could  make  himself 
famous,  but  he's  not  serious.  She  says  his  money  is  too  new, 
and  you  have  to  learn  how  to  be  rich  and  enjoy  a  sane  life. 
She  thinks  he  wants  to  go  to  Europe  to  enjoy  himself,  and 
not  to  study — but  she  never  did  appreciate  Hugh. ' ' 

She  tapped  her  fingers  nervously  on  the  window-panes  and 
her  scarlet  lips  trembled  at  some  thought.  She  looked  sad 
and  unattractive  until  a  tall  figure  appeared  around  the  cor 
ner  and  entered  the  gate;  then  her  face  bloomed  into 
sparkling  beauty  and  her  eyes  grew  blacker,  while  her  heart 
seemed  to  stop  beating  as  she  watched  Crawford  approach 
the  house. 

She  silently  slipped  from  her  room  and  ran  down  the  hall 
to  the  great  staircase,  meeting  him  when  he  entered  the  hall. 
Entirely  oblivious  of  the  maid  he  came  eagerly  toward  Anne 
with  both  hands  outstretched. 

Hugh  Crawford  was  a  vivid  picture  of  manhood.  The  bril 
liant  color  of  his  golden  hair  and  magnificent  complexion 
made  him  almost  uncanny  in  beauty,  and  he  seemed  to 
bring  a  rush  of  tingling,  fresh  air  in  with  him.  Anne  looked 


6  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

very  small  and  dark  beside  him,  yet  her  eyes  held  him  cap 
tive  when  she  laughingly  gave  the  Christmas  greeting,  and 
he  smiled  at  her  with  adoring  fervency. 

"I  brought  you  a  little  remembrance,  Anne.  I  wanted 
you  to  have  it  before  you  went  to  church."  He  put  a  small 
packet  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  Hugh!  What  is  it?"  she  exclaimed.  "Wait  until 
I  open  it." 

"No,  I  can't  stay  a  minute.  I  want  to  finish  my  good 
bye  calls."  He  looked  at  her  meaningly.  "I'll  see  you  at 
church." 

With  a  parting  nod  he  stepped  out  in  the  air  and  went 
swinging  out  of  the  gate.  The  world  was  fine  to  the  young 
American  and  his  spirits  were  soaring  on  the  wings  of  am 
bition,  while  he  had  not  the  slightest  fear  that  anything,  or 
anybody,  could  stop  his  rise  to  honor  and  renown,  and  al 
ready  he  was  picturing  his  triumphant  return  to  La  Conner. 

Anne  watched  the  door  close  upon  him,  then  she  lightly 
ran  upstairs  to  her  rooms.  What  had  Hugh  given  her? 
She  had  some  difficulty  in  undoing  the  wrapping,  for  her 
nervous  fingers  were  trembling  with  happiness  and  curiosity, 
but  she  at  last  opened  the  box  and  started  with  an  exclama 
tion  of  delight  when  she  saw  her  lover's  face  smiling  at  her 
from  the  golden  setting  of  a  locket. 

"Oh,  how  lovely!  How  dear  of  him  to  think  of  what  I 
really  wanted."  She  leaned  over  the  miniature,  then  shyly 
kissed  the  pictured  face  before  fastening  the  slender  chain 
around  her  throat  and  slipping  the  locket  under  the  collar 
of  her  dress.  "I  can't  show  it  to  auntie  just  yet,"  she  mur 
mured.  "I'll  tell  her  to-morrow."  There  was  an  unusual 
flush  on  her  smooth  olive  cheeks  and  excitement  made  her 
beautiful  eyes  brilliant.  The  festive  spirit  of  the  season 
seemed  to  possess  her  and  a  delightful  expectation,  deeper 
than  any  feeling  she  had  ever  known,  came  over  her  when 
she  thought  of  Crawford.  As  eight  o'clock  approached,  she 


A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS.  1 

put  on  her  hat  and  slipped  into  her  fur  coat.  She  took  a 
last  glance  in  the  mirror  at  the  smart,  glowing  little  figure, 
and  snatching  up  her  muff,  stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Are  you  ready,  auntie?"  she  called  as  she  fastened  her 
gloves,  smiling  with  engaging  sweetness  when  Miss  Hamil 
ton  answered  by  leaving  her  room  and  looking  appreciatively 
at  the  rosy-cheeked  girl. 

"It's  cold,  so  we  mustn't  keep  the  horses  waiting,"  her 
aunt  said  briskly.  "Yes,  I'm  ready." 

They  walked  down  the  stairs,  side  by  side,  and  when  they 
opened  the  front  door,  Christmas  seemed  to  be  in  the  very 
air,  and  the  children  trooping  past  the  large,  square,  formal 
house,  set  far  back  from  the  street,  shouted  salutes. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  slender  girl  and  stout  lady  stood  in 
the  blaze  of  light  at  the  open  door,  replying  to  the  merry 
greetings. 

"Isn't  Christmas  grand!"  Anne  cried,  throwing  her  furred 
arms  around  the  dignified  lady.  "I'm  so  happy.  Isn't  it 
good  to  be  alive?" 

"I'm  glad  you're  happy  but  you  needn't  knock  my  bonnet 
off,"  Miss  Hamilton  grumbled,  trying  to  conceal  her  irrita 
tion.  The  girl's  sudden  and  energetic  expressions  of  affec 
tion  always  embarrassed  the  straight-laced  woman,  and  she 
severely  followed  the  dancing,  svelte  figure  down  the  wide 
steps  and  into  the  big  sleigh,  piled  with  fur  rugs. 

With  a  great  jingling  of  bells,  they  sped  over  the  white 
roads,  some  fleecy  snow  floating  from  the  trees  decorating 
them  with  great  splashes  of  white,  and  when  the  coachman 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  church,  the  two  women,  nodding 
and  laughing  while  they  shook  the  snow  from  their  garments, 
passed  through  a  huge  open  door  that  disclosed  a  wealth  of 
warmth,  light,  and  brightness — the  glories  of  an  immense 
Christmas  tree  dominating  the  interior. 

Anne's  heart  gave  a  great  bound  of  joy  when  she  saw 
Hugh  Crawford  waiting  near  the  door.  He  drew  a  long 


8  RETURN  OF  HUOH  CRAWFORD 

breath  when  he  looked  at  her  (but  he  had  not  disdained 
looking  with  appraising  eyes  at  the  other  girls  around  him 
while  he  waited.) 

Crawford  was  twenty-two  and  felt  that  he  knew  a  great 
deal  of  the  world.  He  was  quite  satisfied  with  himself  and 
fully  aware  of  his  own  physical  charms,  and  did  not  scorn 
posing. 

His  eyes  met  Anne's  and  the  girl's  jubilant  happiness 
showed  in  her  face  when  she  looked  at  him  through  her 
thick  lashes,  and  Crawford,  unreservedly  proud  and  happy, 
returned  the  glance  ardently. 

The  news  of  his  going  to  Europe  created  much  interest  in 
the  little  church  and  friends  gathered  around  with  fervid 
good  wishes  and  merry  prophecies.  Many  tried  to  insist  that 
winter  was  the  worst  time  of  the  year  to  cross  the  Atlantic,  but 
he  intended  to  spend  a  few  months  in  Germany  before  enter 
ing  the  University,  and  his  passage  was  engaged  for  the  first 
week  in  January. 

For  the  moment  he  forgot  everything  but  the  girl,  and  he 
was  in  a  happy  mood  of  expectancy  when  he  went  forward  to 
meet  her. 

From  childhood  they  had  been  fond  of  each  other.  They 
moved  in  the  same  circle,  and  although  Anne  was  the  rich 
est  girl  in  the  State,  Crawford  knew  she  was  his  for  the 
asking. 

"When  Anne  gets  that  deep  look  in  her  eyes  she's  a  stun 
ning  beauty  and  I'm  going  to  marry  her,"  he  decided,  for 
there  was  none  of  the  hopeless  lover  in  Hugh  Crawford. 
Modesty  was  never  one  of  his  virtues,  but  his  debonair  assur 
ance  was  not  unbecoming  and  he  floated  over  the  course  of 
existence,  affable,  generous,  a  "prince  of  good  fellows,"  and 
liked  by  every  one,  except  Miss  Hamilton. 

"Oh,  Hugh !  It  was  just  what  I  wanted,"  Anne  whispered, 
laying  her  hand  over  her  bosom,  and  Crawford  knew  that 
she  wore  his  locket.  "I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you." 


A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS.  9 

He  glowed  with  distinct  gratification  in  discovering  that 
she  stole  timorous  glances  up  at  him,  quite  unlike  her  usual 
careless  smiles,  and  he  did  not  speak  but  pressed  her  arm. 

"In  a  couple  of  weeks  you  will  be  in  Europe,"  she  whis 
pered.  "It  seems  so  far  away." 

"I  am  here  tonight,  Anne.  Don't  think  of  anything  sad. 
I  want  it  to  be  the  happiest  night  of  my  life.  I'm  going  to 
ask  Miss  Hamilton  to  let  me  take  you  home.  I  have  some 
thing  important  to  tell  you." 

Reluctantly  Miss  Hamilton  consented,  and  coming  home 
from  the  church  Christmas  tree,  Hugh  Crawford  asked  Anne 
to  be  his  wife.  She  had  known  that  they  belonged  to  each 
other — had  felt  so  ever  since  they  were  children,  but  there 
had  been  no  love-making. 

Crawford  faltered  and  stammered,  finding  his  feelings  toe 
deep  to  express.  In  spite  of  his  emotion,  the  thought  of 
going  away  did  not  carry  a  pain  to  his  heart,  as  it  did  to 
Anne's,  although  he  was  under  the  spell  of  her  sweetness  and 
felt  the  power  of  love. 

"You  promise  to  marry  me,  Anne?"  He  drew  her  master 
fully,  closely — almost  roughly  into  his  arms.  "Kiss  me  and 
give  me  your  promise,  darling." 

For  an  instant  she  held  her  breath  and  looked  into  his  eyes, 
then  gave  him  her  first  kiss.  Something  seemed  to  unlock 
the  wonders  of  the  world  to  Crawford,  and  his  heart  fluttered 
as  madly  as  hers.  Life  was  a  fairy  romance  and  the  future 
promised  heavenly  sweetness.  "Tell  me  that  you  love  me," 
he  whispered. 

She  murmured  her  answer,  and  slowly  under  the  shadow 
of  the  leafless  trees,  they  walked  homewards,  the  beauty  of 
the  Christmas  night  unnoticed. 

"We  must  tell  auntie,"  Anne  ventured  nervously.  "She 
may  not  want  us  to  marry." 

"What's  the  use  of  worrying  her  now,"  Crawford  whis 
pered.  "It  only  concerns  ourselves,  and  we  can  tell  her  when 


10  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

we  are  ready,"  but  noticing  the  pain  in  Anne's  face,  his  tone 
changed,  his  face  quivered  and  he  bent  tenderly  over  her. 
"Do  just  as  you  want  to,  dear,"  he  yielded  fondly. 

"I'll  tell  her  some  other  time,"  Anne  answered  quietly. 
"It  shall  be  our  secret  for  the  present." 

-A  man  seems  to  feel  the  domination  of  love  more  intensely 
than  does  a  girl,  and  fear  of  the  terrible  power  of  passion 
makes  him  timorous,  but  a  girl  accepts  things  and  has  ro 
mantic  dreams  and  desires  for  love-making,  and,  without 
reasoning,  knows  things  a  man  only  learns  from  experience. 

When  Dora,  who  had  been  Anne's  nurse  but  now  was  her 
maid,  opened  the  door,  she  whispered  that  Miss  Hamilton 
was  already  at  home. 

"We  won't  disturb  her,"  Anne  said  easily.  "Auntie  must 
be  tired  out  with  Christmas  work.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
call  her." 

Crawford  was  in  high  sprits  and  followed  her  into  the 
cozy  reception  room  that  led  to  the  parlor.  Everything  was 
going  to  be  as  he  wished — the  future  promised  to  be  perfect, 
for  his  whole  heart  was  engrossed  in  his  love  for  Anne. 

"You  will  never  change,  dear?"  he  a'sked  as  he  stood  be 
side  her.  "You  will  not  forget  me?" 

"Why  do  you  go  away  now,  if  you  have  any  doubt?"  the 
girl  retorted  quickly.  "Wait  a  few  months.  I  will  be  eight 
een,  and  I  will  go  with  you.  Our  marriage  would  not  inter 
fere  with  your  studies.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  going 
to  a  strange  country  without  me." 

Crawford  smiled  at  her.  "No,  dear,  it  would  not  do.  I 
am  going  away  to  work  and  if  we  were  married,  I  would  want 
to  be  with  you — always."  He  was  very  handsome  and  manly 
when  he  added,  "I'm  going  to  make  you  proud  of  your  hus 
band-to-be,  Anne." 

He  loosened  her  furs  and  threw  them  on  the  table  and 
drew  her  into  the  large,  old-fashioned  parlor.  It  was  an  im 
mense,  high-ceilinged  room,  with  crystal  chandeliers  and 


A  WHITE  CHRISTMAS.  11 

gilded  mirrors,  stately  and  comfortable,  warm  and  velvet- 
carpeted,  and  the  great  fireplace  was  piled  with  glowing  logs. 
His  hand  sought  hers  as  they  sat  on  a  couch  in  a  corner,  and 
with  her  head  resting  on  his  shoulder,  they  cheerfully  planned 
their  future. 

But  Anne's  heart  grew  heavy,  and  again  she  begged  him 
not  to  go  without  her. 

"You  are  so  handsome,  Hugh.  :_I'm  afraid  someone  may 
win  you  from  me,"  she  argued  jealously.  "Ah,  if  you  loved 
me  as  I  do  you,  you  would  wait  for  me." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  drew  her  close.  "Don't  you 
trust  me,  dear?"  he  interrogated.  "Don't  be  afraid,  dar 
ling,"  he  added  passionately,  "I  love  you.  I  will  be  true  to 
you,  but  marriage  will  hamper  me,  and  if  you  love  me  you 
will  not  cramp  my — our  future.  Surely  our  affection  is  strong 
enough  to  bear  this  separation." 

Love  and  confidence  opened  the  glory  of  life  to  her  and  she 
laid  her  face  close  to  his,  believing  in  his  faith  and  promises. 
The  future  beckoned  with  alluring  delights  and  her  love,  up 
lifted  by  pride,  gained  strength.  He  was  her  Hugh,  her 
husband-to-be. 

They  were  oblivious  to  time  until  they  heard  Miss  Hamilton 
speaking  querulously  to  a  servant. 

' '  It  must  be  late — I  must  go,  darling, ' '  Crawford  whispered. 
' '  Say  good-bye  before  your  aunt  comes. ' '  He  kissed  her  warm, 
responsive  lips.  "You  will  love  me  always,  Anne?" 

"Always,"  she  replied  solemnly,  "but  will  you  never 
change?  You  will  meet  such  beautiful  women,  Hugh,  and  I 
am  not  even  pretty." 

Again  he  kissed  her  and  her  uplifted  eyes  found  a  sweet 
answer  to  her  fears. 

"No  one  can  ever  be  so  beautiful  to  me  as  you  are,  Sweet 
heart,"  he  asserted  and  let  her  slip  from  his  arms  just  as  Miss 
Hamilton,  bustling  and  smiling,  entered  the  room. 


12  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Crawford's  train  was  to  leave  shortly  after  midnight  and 
there  wasn't  much  time  for  friendly  God-speeds,  but  the  man, 
young,  handsome,  rich  and  confident,  proudly  faced  the  world 
with  Anne 's  promise  in  his  mind  and  her  kisses  on  his  lips. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  girl  went  to  her  room  and,  press 
ing  her  treasured  locket  against  her  heart,  stood  at  her  win 
dow  gazing  through  the  silvery  sheen  of  the  night,  trying  to 
pierce  through  the  shadows  of  the  future.  Her  nature  was  in 
tense  and  passionate  and  thinking  of  her  promise  to  Craw 
ford,  she  bowed  her  head  and  murmured,  "until  death  us 
do  part." 


CHAPTER  II. 
Love's  Young  Dream. 


13 


CHAPTER  II. 

LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

After  his  arrival  in  Europe,  Crawford  wrote  interesting 
though  brief  letters,  telling  of  his  new  experiences,  friends, 
and  sometimes  of  his  studies,  but  he  never  mentioned  a  hope 
of  returning  to  claim  Anne  for  his  w-ife. 

She  loved  him  with  the  splendid  passion  of  youth  and  felt 
miserable  and  uneasy  when  he  raved  over  th'e  beauty  of  some 
of  the  women  he  met.  One  day  Dora  brought  her  a  thick 
letter  bearing  the  German  post-mark.  The  girl  tore  it  open 
with  a  beating  heart,  smiled  at  its  unusual  length,  and  read 
and  re-read  words  that  restored  her  confidence. 

"And  again  I  am  in  Vienna,"  Crawford  wrote.  "You  will 
think  I  do  not  attend  my  lectures  and  will  never  get  down 
to  hard  work  at  the  University,  but  I  return  to  Berlin  in  a  few 
days ;  and  never  mind,  Anne  dearest,  if  I  'm  not  made  of  the 
stuff  that  famous  men  are  made  of,  my  laziness  will  give  a 
better  man  a  chance ;  but  I  '11  get  my  degree  and  frame  it  for 
you — some  day.  I  wish  you  could  meet  some  of  the  splen 
did  people  here,  and  that  I  could  show  you  the  wonderful 
places  we  used  to  dream  of  when  we  were  kids ;  but  you  are  in 
La  Conner,  and  I  am  here  without  you.  "Wouldn't  it  be  won 
derful  if  you  were  in  London  when  I  go  there — which  will  be 
in  November." 

Blissfully  happy,  Anne  joyously  wrote  that  she  would  meet 
him,  directed  and  sealed  the  letter,  eager  to  send  her  message 
on  its  way,  but  her  face  grew  sorrowful  when  she  remembered 
her  aunt,  and  with  loving  intuition  she  concluded  not  to  send 
her  reply  until  she  had  told  Miss  Hamilton  of  her  decision. 
The  girl  was  in  her  sitting-room,  an  immense,  old-fashioned 
apartment  paneled  and  hung  with  golden-tinted  hangings. 

15 


16  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

The  small  square  panes  of  the  windows  made  strange  bars  of 
light  on  the  rich  carpet,  quiet  and  correct  in  color,  and  toned 
with  the  perfect  furnishings  of  the  room.  Anne  loved  solitude 
at  times,  and  knew  that  no  one  would  disturb  her  if  her  door 
were  closed,  but  she  rose  and  opened  it,  calling  to  Miss 
Hamilton. 

She  did  not  know  that  nervousness  made  her  voice  shrill, 
and  stared  when  her  aunt  ran  to  her,  crying,  "What  is  the 
matter,  Anne  ?  Have  you  bad  news  ? ' ' 

"  No !  Oh,  no,  indeed ! ' '  She  tried  to  speak  naturally,  but 
stammered  and  blushed.  "Hugh  is  well.  I  want  to  speak  of 
his  letter.  He  is  going  to  London  in  the  autumn." 

Miss  Hamilton  looked  relieved.  "Is  that  so?"  she  said, 
her  face  clearing  before  Anne 's  words.  She  had,  from  time  to 
time  suspected  that  Anne  was  engaged  to  Crawford,  and  could 
not  understand  the  girl's  desire  for  personal  independence  and 
secretive  wish  to  keep  her  love  affair  to  herself.  Her  pride 
and  affection  rankled  at  Anne's  want  of  confidence. 

The  truth  was  that  Anne  had  been  afraid  to  confide  in  her 
aunt,  remembering  Miss  Hamilton's  antagonism  to  Crawford, 
and  Hugh  had  written  such  peculiar — such  friendly  letters, 
that  she  was  beginning  to  fear  his  love  had  changed,  and  had 
even  imagined  he  wanted  to  break  their  engagement.  But  now 
she  could  tell  her  aunt  that  she  was  going  to  him,  and  that  all 
the  temptations  and  allurements  of  the  great  world  had  not 
changed  his  affection  for  her. 

Now  her  aunt  would  have  to  admit  that  Crawford's  char 
acter  was  firm  and  his  promises  honorable. 

She  did  not  dream  that  Miss  Hamilton's  pride  rankled  at 
being  of  so  little  importance  to  the  girl  she  had  mothered. 

"I  hope  you  won't  feel  badly,  auntie,  but  I'm  going  to 
meet  Hugh  in  London."  Anne's  tone  was  conciliatory.  "He 
has  written  for  me  to  come.  I  can  stay  with  aunt  Ridgway 
until  we  are  married.  She's  invited  me  regularly,  for  years." 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          17 

Mary  Hamilton 's  face  darkened  and  her  lips  tightened  when 
she  looked  steadily  into  the  mutinous  face  before  her. 

"You  are  going  to  leave  me?"  She  gasped  and  made  a 
sudden  gesture  of  appeal.  ' '  Oh,  Anne !  Not  going  to  London 
— not  alone?" 

"I  shall  take  Dora  with  me  so  I  shall  not  be  alone.  You 
must  have  expected  that  sooner  or  later  I  would  marry  Hugh. ' ' 

"But  listen,  dear.  I  don't  understand  why  you  are  going 
to  him.  Can't  he  come  for  you  and  marry  you  in  your  own 
home — among  your  friends — among  the  people  who  love  you 
both?" 

"He  is  not  ready  to  come  home  and  I  am  only  too  glad  to 
go  to  him.  I  wanted  him  to  take  me  with  him  two  years 
ago." 

Anne  tried  to  speak  calmly,  unmindful  of  the  pain  she  saw 
in  her  aunt's  face  and  glanced  swiftly  away,  but  she  reddened 
and  paled  in  turn,  trembling  nervously  when  she  added,  "I 
have  written  for  him  to  expect  me. ' ' 

"I  suppose  you  will  do  as  you  think  best,  but  I  beg  of  you, 
do  not  make  this  foolish  journey.  You  will  regret  it,  as  sure 
as  you're  born,"  Miss  Hamilton  cried.  "I  have  tried  to  do 
my  duty,  but  you  are  of  age.  You  say  you  are  going  to  be 
his  wife,  but  I  can't  understand  how  a  man  with  red  blood  in 
his  veins  can  ask  you  to  go  to  him,  when  he  has  time  and 
money  to  come  for  you." 

"But  I  want  to  go.  I  will  be  glad  to  get  away  from  La 
Conner  and  the  people  I've  known  all  my  life.  I  want  a 
change.  I've  been  buried  here,  and  I  haven't  been  happy 
since  Hugh  went  away." 

Flaring  sparks  of  passion  showed  in  her  eyes  and  her  face 
was  very  sweet  as  she  declared  herself. 

"Fiddle-sticks!  You're  in  love  with  an  ideal,"  Miss  Ham 
ilton  scoffed.  "We've  heard  all  sorts  of  rumors  of  his  drink 
ing  and  carousing  with  those  crazy  students.  He  hasn't  done 
anything  to  make  you  proud  of  him  that  I  know  of.  He's 


18 

just  six-feet-one  of  handsome  animal,  and  no  doubt  more  con 
ceited  than  ever  since  he's  been  kiting  over  Europe  with 
people  we  never  heard  of.  Doe's  he  ever  tell  you  that  he's 
been  to  church?  You'll  find  him  a  different  man,  and  he 
never  was  worthy  of  your  loyalty  and  love.  I  don't  want  you 
to  go  to  him,  Anne."  The  girl  started  to  speak  but  Miss 
Hamilton  had  not  finished.  The  red  and  white  in  her  Saxon 
face  made  her  look  years  younger,  and  quite  like  a  worried, 
motherly  angel.  "Of  course  my  opinions  are  nothing  against 
his  and  you  are  legally  free  to  go  where  your  fancy  leads,  but 
remember  that  even  if  Hugh  Crawford  does  love  you  now, 
you  can't  depend  on  him.  He  is  volatile  and  selfish — " 

"You  were  always  against  him,"  Anne  cried  passionately. 
"You  don't  know  him  as  he  really  is.  He  isn't  selfish.  He 
would  give  up  the  world — everything,  for  me.  It  is  two  years 
since  he  went  to  Europe,  and  he  has  been  constant.  He  wants 
me,  and  we  love  each  other  and  will  be  happy."  Her  cheeks 
flamed,  and  she  stood  up  defiantly  while  she  defended  her  lover. 

Miss  Hamilton  stared  and  tried  to  hide  her  discouragement 
under  a  wintry  smile. 

"There  is  no  use  of  our  arguing,  dear.  I  know  I  can't  in 
fluence  you,  but  I  have  always  tried  to  make  you  happy,  so  I 
won't  annoy  you  with  my  misgivings.  The  kind  of  love  you 
feel  is  a  mystery  to  me.  It  seems  like  romantic  hysteria," 
and  seeing  Anne's  displeasure  she  added  more  gently,  "but 
I'm  an  old  maid  and  don't  understand  the  'grand  passion,' 
and  hope  you  may  be  blessed." 

"Some  day  you  and  Hugh  will  understand  each  other  bet 
ter,"  Anne  burst  out  impulsively,  "and  for  my  sake  you 
will  be  nice  to  him." 

' '  I  shall  love  him  if  he  is  kind  to  you, ' '  replied  Miss  Ham 
ilton,  "but  Anne,  what  has  suddenly  made  you  dissatisfied 
with  La  Conner?  "Won't  you  and  Hugh  live  here?" 

"I  suppose  we  will,  eventually,  but  Hugh's  letters  show 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          19 

me  how  commonplace  life  here,  is.  There  is  no  society — no 
art — nothing  but  monotony." 

Miss  Hamilton  had  great  difficulty  in  controlling  her  tem 
per,  and  to  hide  her  vexation,  she  yielded  to  a  hysterical  desire 
to  laugh,  but  the  sound  was  not  mirthful.  To  her  La  Conner 
was  perfect  and  she  couldn't  understand  Anne's  remarks. 

"Don't  imagine  you  will  ever  drift  entirely  away  from 
your  home,  Anne.  You  may  think  you  don't  love  the  old 
place,  but  you  and  Hugh  will  be  glad  to  come  back  some  day 
— mark  my  words.  You  can't  expect  to  find  allurements  and 
the  delightful  snares  of  Paris,  in  a  little  home  town  like  La 
Conner,  but  you  have  peace,  and  loving  friends  here.  You 
liked  it  so  well  yourself  that  you  wouldn't  leave  it  and  go 
abroad  with  the  Deaks  when  they  asked  you.  I  wanted  you 
to  go  then." 

"Perhaps  there  was  a  reason — perhaps  it  was  because  I 
was  engaged  to  Hugh  and  he  could  not  leave  Berlin,  and  he 
had  not  asked  me  to  go  to  him." 

Miss  Hamilton  raised  her  brows.  "Perhaps  he  had  less 
assurance  then,  and  thought  he  would  have  to  come  for  you 
if  he  wanted  you."  She  was  filled  with  impotent  despair 
when  she  looked  into  Anne's  dark,  warm  face  and  glanced  at 
her  helplessly  when  she  exclaimed,  ' '  I  'm  afraid  of  the  sea,  but 
let  me  go  with  you?" 

"I — I'd  rather  go  alone,  auntie.  It's  not  worth  the  jour 
ney,  and  I  would  hate  to  leave  you  so  far  away  from  home. 
I'd  have  to  go  with  Hugh.  But  you're  going  to  give  your 
consent,  aren't  you,  darling?" 

"You  don't  need  it,"  Miss  Hamilton  said  dully.  "You'd 
go  without  it." 

"Yes,  I  would,  dear,  but  I  would  not  be  happy.  I  want 
your  love  and  sympathy.  You  don't  want  to  see  me 
wretched?" 

She  put  her  arms  around  her  aunt  and  kissed  her.  Was 
she  selfish  and  cruel  in  wanting  to  leave  the  woman  who  had 


20  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

been  a  mother  to  her  ?  In  her  heart  she  was  not  satisfied  with 
herself,  but  her  love  for  Crawford  seemed  to  justify  her.  Her 
disregard  of  opinion,  the  dominant  desire  to  go  to  her  lover, 
surprised  and  thrilled  her,  and  there  was  no  fear  of  the 
long  journey  or  the  future.  It  appeared  to  be  the  natural 
thing  for  her  to  do. 

"You  will  feel  differently  when  you  see  how  happy  Hugh 
and  I  are,  and  I  will  be  back  some  day — with  him." 

"That  sounds  very  pleasant  and  I'll  always  be  here  wait 
ing  for  you,  or  ready  to  go  to  you  if  you  need  me,  but  all 
the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men  couldn't  get  me  to 
go  traipsing  off  to  Europe,  or  far  from  La  Conner,  unless 
you  needed  me." 

"I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  be  so  sweet  to  me,"  Anne 
cried  gratefully,  putting  her  slim  young  arms  around  Miss 
Hamilton's  shoulders  and  holding  her  close.  "Auntie,  I 
love  you  dearly.  I  shall  never  forget  all  your  loving  kindness 
to  me." 

""Will  it  stand  the  test  of  my  asking  you  to  remain  with 
me?" 

"Oh,  auntie!" 

"There,  there,  child!  I  haven't  asked  it.  Kiss  me  again 
and  let  me  go,"  and  Miss  Hamilton  walked  rapidly  out  of 
the  room,  breathing  hard  and  gripping  her  hands  to  keep 
from  weeping.  She  knew  how  terribly  lonely  she  would  be 
without  the  girl. 

So,  as  usual,  Anne  dominated  the  older  woman  and  car 
ried  out  her  plans  with  unfaltering  ardor. 

The  days  seemed  years  while  she  waited  with  heart-breaking 
anxiety  for  the  answer  to  her  letter  to  Crawford.  At  the 
end  of  three  weeks  she  received  a  few  lines  from  him.  She 
read,  fascinated  and  thrilled,  and  finding  a  world  of  meaning 
between  the  following  words: 

' '  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  you  are  coming  to  Lon 
don.  I  was  surprised  at  your  quick  response,  and  all  I  can 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          21 

say  is  that  you  are  the  bravest  little  girl  in  the  world  to  take 
such  a  long  journey,  practically, alone.  I  should  tell  you  to 
wait  until  friends  are  crossing  but  I  am  too  selfish,  and  my 
mind  is  full  of  thoughts  of  our  meeting.  I  enclose  an  address. 
A  friend  recommended  the  place,  and  I  suggest  I  meet  you 
there.  It  is  less  public  than  a  hotel.  You  will  find  a  letter 
waiting  for  you  when  you  arrive  in  London.  You  mention 
having  relatives  there — and  that  they  are  nice.  Of  course  they 
must  be,  but  I  don't  want  to  know  them — I  want  you.  Faith 
fully.  Hugh." 

She  read  the  letter  over  carefully,  then  studied  the  card 

Crawford  had  enclosed.  Written  on  it  was  Bedford 

Square.  W.  C.  She  did  some  serious  thinking  before  replac 
ing  it  in  the  envelope  and  locking  it  in  her  desk.  She  would  go 
at  once.  With  Hugh,  any  place  would  be  paradise.  He  would 
again  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  they  would  share  each  other's 
joys  and  sorrows  for  life. 

She  went  to  her  aunt  in  such  a  whirl  of  emotion  that  her 
happiness  was  contagious.  Although  Miss  Hamilton  was  bit 
terly  jealous  of  Crawford,  she  hoped  he  had  "settled  down," 
and  she  tried  to  share  Anne's  confidence  that  the  girl  was 
wise  in  following  the  dictates  of  her  heart.  She  gave  herself 
up  to  the  excitement,  trying  to  forget  the  dread  of  the  com 
ing  separation  and  after  weeks  of  preparation,  tearfully  but 
hopefully  wished  Anne  "God  speed." 

' '  I  was  a  fool  to  allow  her  to  go  without  me  but  she  wanted 
me  to  stay  at  home.  She'll  be  with  the  Deaks  in  New  York, 
and  Dora  is  to  be  trusted.  I  wonder  what  the  Ridgways  will 
think.  I'm  pretty  sure  Hugh  Crawford  will  love  her  more 
than  ever  after  he  meets  her  mother's  people." 

The  train  with  a  nerve-racking  shriek  vanished  around  a 
curve,  and  with  a  dry  sob,  Mary  Hamilton  tried  to  smile  at 
the  friends  who  had  come  to  the  station  to  wish  Anne  good-bye, 
slowly  stepped  into  her  carriage  and  returned  to  her  lonely 
home. 


22  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

When  Anne  and  her  maid  descended  from  the  Express  aV 
New  York  they  were  met  by  the  Honorable  Philip  Deak  and 
his  sister. 

Philip  Deak's  only  daughter,  Eleanor,  had  been  Anne's 
chum  in  college,  but  she  had  married  and  gone  to  England. 
Although  Anne  was  younger  than  the  beautiful  New  York 
girl,  they  had  been  devoted  to  one  another  and  when  Eleanor 
married,  Miss  Hamilton  and  Anne  (who  was  the  youngest 
bridesmaid)  went  to  New  York  for  the  wedding. 

The  Deaks  liked  Anne  and  greetings  were  hardly  over  before 
they  spoke  of  amusements  they  had  planned  for  her. 

They  had  never  heard  of  Hugh  Crawford  and  Anne  did  not 
speak  of  her  fiance,  but  his  face  was  constantly  before  her, 
her  brain  was  crowded  with  tender  fancies,  and  the  few  days 
she  spent  in  New  York  before  sailing,  were  a  trial  to  the  girl 
who  was  constantly  thinking  of  her  approaching  marriage. 

"Hugh  is  queer.  I  suppose  I  will  understand  him  better 
after  we  are  married,"  she  thought,  trusting  blindly  in  his 
judgment.  ' '  He  writes  of  the  wonderful  people  he  would  like 
me  to  know  and  that  he  longs  to  see  me,  but  he  never  mentions 
our  marriage." 

She  scrutinized  the  card  bearing  the  London  address. 

' '  I  suppose  he  has  some  good  reason  for  wanting  me  to  meet 
him,  instead  of  coming  to  aunt  Ridgway's.  I  wonder  what 
he  will  say  when  he  meets  my  mother's  people,  and  I  can't 
understand  why  auntie  never  allowed  me  to  speak  of  them. 
I  believe  she 's  a  dear  socialist  and  disapproves  of  the  title. ' ' 

She  carefully  replaced  the  card  in  her  pocket-book  and 
sighed  happily  as  she  went  downstairs  to  meet  the  guests, 
Miss  Deak  being  ''At  Home,"  and  the  rooms  already  full  of 
callers. 

Ellen  Deak  kept  Anne  beside  her,  proud  of  the  girl  whose 
calm  air  of  distinction  made  her  very  attractive,  until  she 
noticed  hew  pale  her  guest-of-honor  was. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          23 

A  young  mail  with  a  budding  moustache  was  passing. 

"Willie  Dearborn,  I  want  you  to  take  Miss  Hamilton  to  a 
quiet  corner  and  see  that  she  has  some  tea, ' '  Miss  Deak  whis 
pered,  and  Anne  was  led  away  from  the  crush  near  the  door, 
to  a  small  room  opening  from  the  drawing  rooms,  and  from 
her  seat  could  watch  the  five-o'clock  tea  callers  mingling  and 
gossiping  in  New  York  social  fashion. 

In  spite  of  her  youth,  it  all  looked  very  frivolous  and 
trifling  to  the  western  girl  and  she  felt  very  serious  indeed 
when  the  young  man  who  had  left  her,  re-appeared  with  serv 
ants  following  him. 

"I  ventured  to  order  sandwiches,  too,"  he  whispered  boy 
ishly. 

"Thank  you.  You  are  very  kind,"  Anne  answered  per 
functorily. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  New  York?"  young  Dearborn  en 
quired,  trying  to  be  pleasant  to  the  quiet  girl.  "Will  you 
remain  here  long?" 

"No.  I  am  on  my  way  to  England,"  Anne  answered  smil 
ing.  "I  will  be  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  This  will  be 
my  first  voyage. ' ' 

"You  will  find  the  English  people  delightful — especially  the 
English  women,"  Dearborn  asserted,  chatting  away  although 
his  mouth  was  full  of  cake.  He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the 
black-eyed  girl.  ' '  They  are  extremely  kindly  and  sympathetic 
and  have  charming  manners,"  he  added. 

"Don't  you  think  good  manners  are  to  be  found  wherever 
kindly  feeling  exists?"  Anne  burst  out  with  her  wonted  hon 
esty.  "Surely  they  are  not  confined  to  England." 

Dearborn  glanced  at  her  with  surprise  and  changed  the  sub 
ject.  He  was  a  rich  youth,  of  an  old,  respected  family  and 
not  accustomed  to  having  his  words  challenged  by  "buds," 
and  Anne's  alert  response  embarrassed  him.  She  saw  his  con 
fusion  and  blamed  herself  for  her  outspokenness.  To  Dear 
born's  bewilderment  she  lifted  her  darkly-fringed  eyes  to  his 


24  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

and  stammered,  almost  childishly,  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
of  England  and  English  people." 

"I'm  afraid  the  task  is  beyond  me,"  Dearborn  said,  red 
dening  with  pleasure,  "and  besides,  half  the  fun  of  travel 
ling  is  in  the  unexpected.  I  couldn't  do  the  subject  justice. 
My  heart  is  in  America — it's  God's  country  to  me." 

"Perhaps  my  heart  is  in  England,  and  all  the  world  is 
God's  country." 

Anne  laughed  and  looked  up  with  the  look  that  transformed 
her,  and  Dearborn  was  forced  to  admit  that  the  new  girl  was 
interesting,  but  at  a  signal  from  Miss  Deak,  Anne  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  with  a  pleasant  word,  went  back  to  her  hostess. 

"I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  succeed  in  getting  away  from 
Willie.  He  looked  quite  savage  when  you  left  him,"  laughed 
Miss  Deak.  "He's  a  nice  boy,  and  the  catch  of  the  season." 

"Yes?" 

' '  Bless  my  heart,  I  hope  you  won 't  marry  a  foreigner,  Anne. 
I  always  hate  to  think  of  our  girls  marrying  on  the  other 
side.  Although  Eleanor  is  married  to  an  American  she  has 
been  lost  to  us  since  her  husband  took  her  to  England.  Amer 
ican  men  are  the  best  men  in  the  world. ' ' 

"I  think  exactly  as  you  do,"  Anne  agreed.  "I'll  promise 
not  to  marry  anyone  but  an  American. ' ' 

"Promises  are  more  brittle  than  the  proverbial  pie-crust  if 
the  little  god  of  love  interferes, ' '  Miss  Deak  exclaimed.  ' '  And 
never  marry  in  a  hurry.  I've  been  engaged  for  years,  and 
believe  in  long  engagements." 

Anne  did  not  smile  although  Eleanor  had  told  of  Miss  Deak's 
engagement  to  "a  man  out  west,"  whose  fear  of  the  slender 
little  woman  of  his  choice,  had  been  the  Deak  family  joke 
for  years.  Remembering  the  old-fashioned  romance,  the 
young  girl  looked  at  the  elderly  woman  in  a  kind  of  amaze. 
Was  it  possible  that  any  man  would  dare  take  that  dainty 
form  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her?  Would  prim,  energetic  Miss 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          25 

Deak  feel  the  same  joy  in  meeting  her  lover  that  she  would 
feel  when  she  again  met  Hugh? 

"Don't  look  so  serious,  dear.  I'm  afraid  I  frightened 
you  with  my  chatter,"  Miss  Deak  whispered  remorsefully, 
little  dreaming  of  the  thoughts  in  the  brain  of  the  girl 
beside  her. 

"You  did  not  frighten  me  at  all,"  was  the  frank  re 
sponse;  "you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  that  you  make  me 
homesick  for  my  own  auntie." 

Miss  Deak  smiled  complacently,  and  that  evening  con 
fided  to  her  brother  that  she  thought  Anne  Hamilton  the 
sweetest  girl  she  had  ever  known,  and  she  rose  early  the 
next  morning  to  select  books  and  flowers  to  be  sent  to  the 
steamer;  for  Anne  was  going  to  sail  that  day. 

"I  thought  Mary  Hamilton  was  a  sensible  woman,  but 
she  must  be  crazy  to  let  that  child  travel  Avith  only  a  maid 
to  take  care  of  her,"  she  grumbled.  "And  Anne  has  too 
much  money.  I'll  be  surprised  if  some  fortune  hunter 
doesn't  gobble  her  up." 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  and  Anne 's  spirits  were  high  when 
the  big  automobile  bore  them  swiftly  away  from  the  resi 
dence  part  of  New  York  to  the  docks.  The  sun  shone  and 
even  busy  New  York  looked  lovely  to  the  girl. 

She  found  her  cabin  massed  with  flowers.  On  the  table 
was  a  huge  bunch  of  violets  bearing  a  loving  message  from 
her  aunt  Hamilton,  and  at  this  beautiful  evidence  of  tender 
thought,  the  little  traveler  threw  her  arms  around  Dora's 
neck,  weeping  on  the  bosom  of  the  woman  Avho  had  grown 
to  early  middle-age  in  her  service. 

"There,  there,  Miss  Anne,  dear.  Don't  cry,"  Dora 
pleaded.  "It  isn't  too  late  to  go  back.  Send  a  cable  to 
Mr.  Hugh,  and  come  home." 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand,  Dora!"  Anne  cried  miser 
ably.  "I  don't  want  to  go  home.  I'm  crying  just  because 


26  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

auntie  loves  me.     Oh,  I  wish  she  had  come  with  us,  after 
all.    I'm  homesick  for  her." 

Dora  kept  discreetly  silent,  arranging  the  luxurious  cabin, 
unpacking  steamer  rugs  and  trunks,  and  when  the  steamer 
moved  past  Sandy  Hook,  Anne,  carefully  tucked  in  her 
steamer  chair,  turned  her  eyes  away  from  America  and 
gazed  dreamily  in  the  direction  of  the  Old  World,  where 
she  was  to  meet  the  master  of  her  destiny. 


CHAPTER  III. 
A  Man  of  Pleasure. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MAN  OF  PLEASURE. 

On  a  pleasant,  warm  morning  in  October,  19 — ,  the  Cafe 
of  the  ''Cascade"  in  the  Bois  du  Boulogne  was  full  of 
people,  laughing,  glowering,  smiling,  or  cynical,  according  to 
their  different  temperaments. 

The  weather  was  beautiful,  Indian  summer  lingering  and 
lovely,  the  grass  as  emerald  as  in  springtime  and  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  turning  to  perfect  glories  of  red  and  yellow 
and  brown.  The  world  seemed  to  smile  in  gaiety  beneath 
the  rays  of  the  autumn  sun,  glowing,  alluring,  and  enchant 
ing. 

The  glories  of  the  artistic  setting  were  not  destroyed 
by  the  well-dressed  men  and  brightly-gowned  women  walk 
ing  through  the  sunlight,  and  the  ravishing  toilets  of  many 
of  the  women,  glinting  with  gold  and  silver  embroideries 
of  gorgeous  colorings  (for  it  was  the  fashion  to  wear 
bizarre  Balkan  combinations)  only  augmented  the  sug 
gestion  of  early  summer  and  brilliant  flowers.  Even  the 
painted  faces  of  some  of  the  fair  ones  did  not  impair  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  although  few  of  their  voices  were 
sweet  enough  to  match  the  surroundings. 

Everything,  everybody,  was  gay.  The  music  played  softly 
enough  to  please  the  music  lovers,  and  not  loud  enough  to 
disturb  tender  confidences  exchanged  over  the  tables,  and 
the  portly  maitre  d'hotel,  omnipresent,  and  paying  no  heed 
to  those  who  desired  to  be  ignored,  was  satisfied  and 
smiling.  / 

A  magnificent  royal  blue  limousine  rolled  up  to  the 
entrance  and  with  elegant  courtesy  a  tall,  fair  man,  strik- 

29 


30  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

ingly  handsome  and  of  splendid  stature,  tenderly  assisted 
a  radiant,  slender  woman  from  the  car. 

The  man  was  Hugh  Crawford  and  the  woman  was  the 
Marquise  Tania  Cherimiski,  beauty  and  wit,  renowned 
among  a  certain  set  for  her  lavish  entertainments,  and  one 
of  the  many  lovely  female  mysteries  of  Paris  who  live  like 
extravagant  princesses  on  wealth  derived  from  a  vague 
"somewhere." 

"The  Marquise  Tania"  had  not  seen  the  last  of  her  best 
days  but  she  was  not  young,  though  her  easy  grace  and 
proud  carriage  were  captivating  and  alluring,  and  many 
men  found  her  charms  more  attractive  than  the  beaute  de 
diable  of  the  younger  women  they  met  in  her  salon.  She 
was  extremely  independent  and  selected  her  friends  to  suit 
herself,  though  she  seldom  appeared  in  public  with  any  of  her 
admirers.  She  was  reputed  to  be  very  rich. 

Apparently  she  was  well  known  by  the  frequenters  of  the 
Cascade,  for  her  contagious  burst  of  laughter  at  some  remark 
of  Crawford's,  called  answering  smiles  to  the  faces  of  the 
assembled  joy-seekers,  and  she  nodded  nonchalantly  to  a  few 
of  the  men  at  the  tables. 

It  was  overwhelming  personality  and  impudence  that  im 
pelled  her  to  suggest  dining  at  this  well-known  rendezvous  at 
the  hour  when  she  was  sure  to  meet  tout  Paris — and  ac 
quaintances  she  had  known  in  the  past. 

Crawford,  a  stranger  in  Paris,  had  eagerly  adopted  her 
suggestion  of  lunching  out  of  the  city.  Nouveau  riche,  fre 
quently  befuddled  by  brandy,  and  morally  weak,  he  still  was 
an  American  with  an  American's  distaste  for  being  seen 
among  decent  people  with  a  woman  of  doubtful  reputation, 
and  he  heartily  wished  himself  back  in  Paris,  but  having  been 
caught,  he  accepted  the  situation  as  gracefully  as  possible  and 
with  natural  deliberation  and  calculation,  looked  stolidly 
ahead  of  him,  apparently  as  composed  as  if  he  were  at  home 
in  the  little  western  town  where  he  had  been  born  and  bred. 


A  MAN  OF  PLEASURE.  31 

The  immobility  of  his  face  gave  no  index  of  his  offended 
feelings ;  besides  the  Marquise  was  very  fetching.  They  found 
a  table  and  he  listened  to  the  men  and  women  chattering  like 
monkeys  about  himself  and  the  woman  with  him,  and  felt 
ridiculous  and  absurd.  He  did  not  know  that  among  the 
men  were  many  who  were,  or  wanted  to  be,  fiery  admirers  of 
the  Marquise  and  though  they  would  not  have  acknowledged 
it,  they  secretly  admired  the  courage  of  the  handsome  un 
known  in  bringing  the  beautiful  woman  among  the  people  she 
once  had  associated  with,  but  who  now  left  her  severely  alone. 

The  truth  is  that  Hugh  Crawford  had  only  met  the  Mar 
quise  the  evening  before.  A  student  friend  in  Berlin  had 
asked  him  to  deliver  a  packet,  accompanied  by  a  letter  of  in 
troduction.  Crawford  found  her  apartment  full  of  interest 
ing  people,  while  her  title,  animation  and  apparent  popularity 
awakened  a  desire  to  know  her  better;  and  Hugh  Crawford 
never  hesitated  when  his  own  pleasures  were  in  question. 

The  Marquise  Tania  handed  the  packet  Crawford  gave  her 
to  a  delicate  lad  who  had  followed  her  across  the  room,  and 
with  graceful  abruptness  linked  her  arm  through  the  Ameri 
can  's. 

"Monsieur  Crawford,  permit  me  to  introduce  Johann 
Schmoltz.  He  also  studied  in  Berlin — but  run  away,  Johann, 
you  and  Monsieur  Crawford  shall  talk  another  time." 

Both  men  laughed  and  shook  hands.  Crawford  did  not  un 
derstand  the  significant  looks  that  passed  between  some  of 
the  guests  that  stood  near  him ;  a  look  that  was  instantly  suc 
ceeded  by  conventional  smiles.  If  he  had  known  that  the 
gracious  woman,  smiling  admiringly  up  into  his  eyes,  her  face 
bright  with  interest  and  glowing  with  animation,  had  known 
all  the  sorrow  and  tragedy  of  terrorism  and  despotism,  had 
seen  the  lives  of  her  loved  ones  sacrificed  for  their  ideal  and 
had  consecrated  her  life  to  revenge  for  the  catastrophe  to  her 
home,  he  might  have  felt  apprehension. 


32 


The  Marquise  Tania  found  Crawford  attractively  good-look 
ing,  knew  he  was  rich  and  easy  going  and  she  exerted  every 
fascination  at  her  command  to  captivate  the  wealthy  Ameri 
can.  She  had  been  prepared  for  his  coming  by  the  enthusi 
astic  member  of  the  Cause  who  had  given  him  the  introduc 
tory  letter  to  her  and  while  she  flared  her  great  eyes  at  him 
with  flattering  admiration,  she  was  studying  him. 

Crawford  was  delightfully  certain  that  Tania  had  taken  a 
sudden  fancy  to  him  and  he  sat  and  talked  with  her,  earnestly 
and  merrily,  about  his  friends  and  experiences,  her  deep  in 
terest  compelling  him  to  confide  his  ambitions  and  plans.  She 
was  so  sweetly  serious  that  his  heart  responded  to  her  flat 
tery  and  he  did  not  spare  the  pronoun  "I"  so  dear  to  his 
egotistical  nature.  Tania  saw  that  she  could  safely  adulate 
him  and  listened  with  patient  urbanity. 

She  shone  amid  the  magnificence  and  splendor  of  her  sur 
roundings  and  was  beautiful — at  night  time. 

But  on  this  bright  October  morn  he  was  a  little  shocked 
when  he  noted  the  signs  of  time  which  the  autumn  sun 
mercilessly  disclosed  and  almost  repented  of  his  invitation  to 
take  her  to  luncheon.  He  mentally  concluded  to  confine  his 
attentions  to  less  public  places  while  he  comforted  himself 
with  the  thought  that  he  was  a  stranger  in  Paris. 

Had  the  Marquise  Tania  known  how  awkward  and  con 
spicuous  Hugh  Crawford  felt — what  a  catastrophe  he  con 
sidered  their  descent  among  the  haut  ton,  she  would  have  been 
delighted,  for  she  was  mischievous  as  a  monkey,  but  she  did 
not  guess  what  was  in  his  mind.  She  was  cheerfully  stimulat 
ing  and  good-natured  as  she  sat  by  his  side  during  the  ride 
around  the  lake  and  out  to  the  Cascade  and  when  they  de 
scended  from  the  car  she  was  flushed  and  sparkling  and 
Crawford  had  forgotten  his  virtuous  resolutions. 

The  mail  re  d'  hatel  found  them  a  table  and  while  Tania 
leaned  over  the  snowy  cloth  slowly  reading  the  menu,  the 
women  around  her  were  admiring  the  costume  of  this  myste- 


A  MAN  OF  PLEASURE.  33 

rious  lawgiver  of  fashion  who  was  celebrated  for  her  marvel 
lous  toilettes  and  dashing  good  taste.  Her  figure  was  per 
fect,  and  the  scant  skirt  of  her  gown,  which  was  slit  half-way 
to  the  knee,  revealed  the  contour  of  her  beautiful  slender 
limbs  and  one  daintily  shod  foot  and  silken  ankle. 

Crawford's  large  blue  eyes  turned  from  her  to  the  occu 
pants  of  the  tables  around  them.  The  sunlight  flashed  in  his 
face  and  showed  the  signs  of  passion  and  determination  and 
the  selfish  cruelty  of  his  true  nature,  as  it  lighted  up  his  blond 
physiognomy. 

He  was  extremely  well-dressed  and  gave  the  impression  of 
being  an  educated,  self-satisfied  Englishman  placidly  inter 
ested  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene  before  him  though  his  thoughts 
were  busily  planning  a  graceful  retreat  from  his  embarrass 
ing  position. 

His  gaze  returned  to  the  woman  sitting  opposite  to  him 
and  he  smiled  more  confidently.  After  all,  why  should  he 
worry?  She  was  only  one  of  the  women  who  had  shown  him 
preference — she  was  only  an  episode.  With  the  hastiness 
of  one  who  gives  free  sway  to  his  moods,  he  became  more  gra 
cious,  and  during  luncheon  listened  attentively  while  the 
Marquise  gayly  talked  of  Paris  and  its  attractions.  As  the 
wine  warmed  his  blood  he  too  grew  animated,  lost  all  haughti 
ness  and  reserve  and  decided  that  at  last  he  had  met  a  woman 
who  understood  him.  She  was  not  the  mercenary  sort  but  a 
rich,  independent  woman-of-the-world  who  appreciated  him. 

Before  they  had  finished  their  meal,  a  party  of  English 
people  entered  the  cafe  and  sat  at  a  neighboring  table,  tittering 
and  laughing. 

' '  That  gentleman  looks  exactly  like  the  picture  Cousin  Anne 
wears  in  her  locket,"  one  of  the  girls  exclaimed. 
.  "Don't  be  silly  and  stare  at  people  you  do  not  know,"  an 
older  woman  in  the  party  answered  reprovingly,  although  she 
lifted  her  lorgnette  and  looked  squarely  at  Crawford  who  was 
blissfully  unconscious  of  the  interest  he  had  aroused. 


34  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

He  did  not  dream  that  he  was  close  to  Anne's  relatives. 

The  Marquise  was  in  gay  spirits  and  Crawford  leaned  to 
ward  her,  a  smile  lurking  in  his  handsome  eyes. 

' '  Suppose  we  have  our  coffee  in  the  city  ? ' ' 

She  tilted  her  head  with  an  astonishingly  languishing  look 
and  pouted  her  full  lips  as  she  whispered,  "Oui." 

He  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  coquetry  but  the  Marquise 
smiled  and  a  concentrated  expression  showed  in  her  luminous 
eyes.  She  clicked  her  small  teeth  together  when  Crawford 
affectionately  pressed  her  arm  as  he  assisted  her  into  the 
machine. 

She  sat  back  in  the  corner  of  the  immense  car,  her  bright 
face  looking  lovely  to  the  American,  and  she  impulsively  laid 
her  bare  hand  over  his. 

"Come  to  my  apartment,"  she  suggested.  "Have  coffee 
chez  moi." 

"That  will  be  delightful.  Indeed  I  will,"  he  exclaimed 
heartily.  "I  wish  I  did  not  have  to  leave  Paris,  but  I  posi 
tively  must  go  to  London  to-morrow.  I'm  sorry  we  did  not 
meet  before." 

' '  I  am  sorry  too, ' '  Tania  said  softly,  ' '  but  if  you  must  go — 
you  must.  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  a  friend — or  perhaps  you 
will  deliver  a  little  present  for  me.  I  have  very  dear  friends 
in  England." 

"I  am  sure  you  have  very  dear  friends  wherever  you  are 
known,"  Crawford  answered  innocently.  The  Marquise 
turned  and  looked  searchingly  at  him.  Did  she  grow  pale  un 
der  her  rouge?  "There  is  nothing  surprising  in  that,  is 
there?"  he  asked.  "You  are  a  magnificent  woman." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  laughed,  her  manner  again  light 
and  alluring.  "And  you  too  are  magnificent  and  very  fas 
cinating.  You  American  men  are  the  most  delightful  men 
in  the  world." 

The  Marquise  Tania  was  renowned  for  her  courage  and 
self-control,  but  she  was  struck  with  a  peculiar  feeling  of  dis- 


A  MAX  OF  PLEASURE.  35 

taste  for  the  task  ahead  of  her  and  regretted  that  this  Apollo- 
like  young  giant  should  be  chosen  for  her  tool,  and  when  the 
car  swung  up  in  front  of  her  apartment  in  the  Rue  Cherche 
Midi,  she  silently  gave  her  hand  to  Crawford  who  carefully 
assisted  her  to  descend.  She  hesitated  as  she  stood  beside  him. 
Should  she  spare  him?  Should  she  send  him  out  of  her  life 
— out  of  danger?  She  knew  he  was  going  to  meet  his  sweet 
heart  in  London ;  indeed  there  was  very  little  of  Hugh  Craw 
ford 's  present  life  that  she  did  not  know.  But  the  moment 
passed,  and  the  love  of  the  "Cause"  was  greater  than  any 
womanly  compunction,  and  flashing  her  white  teeth  in  a  daz 
zling  smile,  she  led  Crawford  to  her  apartment. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  he  remembered  Anne  and  smiled, 
but  his  smile  was  not  an  agreeable  one. 

"I  won't  marry  if  I  can  get  out  of  it,  but  I  must  go  to 
London,"  he  thought  wearily.  "She's  waiting  for  me  now. 
I  '11  send  a  wire  that  I  'm  unavoidably  detained  and  that  a  letter 
will  follow." 

He  did  feel  a  pang  of  compunction  for  his  unmanly  de 
cision,  but  unfortunately  Hugh  Crawford  was  not  consistent 
and  his  resolutions  were  as  changeable  as  his  emotions,  and 
he  was  swayed  by  every  wave  of  passion  and  humor — a 
weather-cock  of  whims  that  responded  to  each  new  infatua 
tion  without  regard  to  cause  or  consequence.  With  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders  he  dismissed  embarrassing  thoughts,  and  wrote 
his  message  and  a  letter  to  Anne.  Once  he  lifted  his  eyes  from 
the  Marquise's  elaborately  carved  desk  and  saw  the  Russian 
woman's  eyes  challenging  him  with  smiling  mockery,  and  he 
soulfully  returned  the  glance. 

The  following  days  passed  quickly  and  delightfully.  He 
found  his  new  friend  a  most  attentive  listener,  charming,  en 
tertaining  and  sympathetic.  She  assisted  him  in  selecting  an 
apartment  and  furniture,  helped  him  arrange  his  personal 
treasures,  introduced  him  to  many  of  her  friends  and  catered 
to  his  vanity  with  seductive  understanding. 


36  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Wholly  unconscious  of  her  motive,  he  gladly  offered  to  carry 
a  present  to  her  friend  in  London  which  she  begged  him  to 
deliver  immediately  on  his  arrival. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  his  stay  in  Paris  the  cloud  of  procrasti 
nation  that  swayed  him  slowly  lifted,  the  wine  fumes  drifted 
away  and  Hugh  Crawford  realized  that  he  must  go  to  Eng 
land;  that  a  crisis  in  his  life  had  arrived.  He  knew  he  had 
been  cruelly  indifferent  to  Anne's  feelings,  and  it  was  a  ques 
tion' not  of  how  long,  but  of  how  short  a  time  it  would  take 
for  him  to  cross  the  Channel. 

"Anne  did  not  mention  her  aunt's  name,"  he  muttered 
crossly,  and  rang  the  bell  for  the  English  valet  he  had  en 
gaged.  "I  suppose  she  is  a  'nobody,'  "  and  when  the  quiet 
Saunders  entered  the  room,  he  said,  "We're  going  to  London 
immediately.  Pack  my  things  and  lock  up  the  place.  Leave 
the  key  with  the  concierge  and  tell  her  to  keep  everything 
in  readiness.  We  may  return  at  any  time." 

"Very  good,  Sir." 

Saunders'  face  did  not  express  any  emotion. 

Hugh  Crawford's  aspirations  to  become  a  great  doctor 
seemed  to  have  vanished.  He  still  was  quiet  and  gentlemanly 
in  manner  and,  in  spite  of  extreme  selfishness,  made  many 
friends.  His  fortune  yielded  him  an  immense  income  and 
his  wealth  threw  him  into  the  company  of  other  gilded  youths 
without  stamina  or  serious  aspirations,  many  of  them  being 
weak,  vain  and  vicious. 

His  engagement  to  Anne  Hamilton  did  not  interfere  with 
his  enjoyment  of  the  society  of  other  women  and  it  was  after 
a  carousal  with  the  hard-drinking,  wild  set  he  mingled  with 
in  Vienna  that  he  had  written  the  letter  to  her  telling  her 
that  he  longed  for  her — wanted  her.  He  did  not  dream  that 
she  would  consider  it  a  request  to  come  to  him. 

To  use  his  own  expression,  he  was  "up  a  tree,"  for  he  did 
not  want  to  marry.  He  wanted  to  be  free,  and  desired  none 
of  the  sacrifice  of  worldly,  selfish  amusements,  that  a  wife 


A  MAN  OF  PLEASURE.  37 

would  expect,  and  he  had  been  introduced  into  an  atmosphere 
entirely  different  from  the  society  he  had  known  in  America. 
He  believed  he  could  find  a  mate  among  the  luxurious  and 
brilliant  women  he  met  and  admired — until  he  remembered 
Anne.  After  all,  she  might  be  reasonable,  and  when  he  spoke 
with  her  he  could  easily  persuade  her  that  marriage  would  be 
fatal  to  his  prospects.  She  had  always  been  under  his  influ 
ence  and  would  see  things  as  he  did.  She  was  an  orphan, 
wealthy  in  her  own  right,  and  he  magnanimously  made  up  his 
mind  to  make  her  visit  to  Europe  a  pleasant  one,  but  did  not 
intend  to  marry  her  if  he  could  avoid  it. 

He  knew  his  power  over  women.  Crawford  was  not  to  be 
blamed  because  women  fell  in  love  with  and  spoiled  him.  By 
nature  he  was  ardently  receptive,  and  exchanged  pledges  and 
vows  with  reckless  abandon,  believing  himself  to  be  passion 
ately  in  love  with  the  latest  lady  who  pleased  his  fancy. 

It  is  true  he  did  not  forget  the  slender,  dark,  wistful  girl 
who  had  given  him  her  promise  in  America,  but  it  was  only 
a  fragrant,  shadowy  memory  which  her  regular  letters  kept 
alive,  and  did  not  interfere  with  his  enjoyment  of  pleasures  at 
hand. 

The  youth  had  changed  into  a  man  of  the  world,  and  in  the 
beautiful  apartment  the  Marquise  Tania  had  helped  him  se 
lect,  he  arranged  photographs  of  professional  beauties — stage 
favorites — German — Swiss — Italian  and  French  girls,  beside 
framed  and  autographed  pictures  of  aristocratic  women;  and 
many  occupied  spaces  more  conspicuous  than  did  Anne's  dif 
ferent  portraits. 

"We  are  a  long  time  dead  and  I'm  going  to  live  while  I 
may, ' '  he  thought  drily,  while  he  prepared  to  start  for  London. 

He  stood  in  front  of  an  exquisite  miniature  of  a  beautiful 
woman  whose  blue  eyes  and  masses  of  amber  hair  were  as  at 
tractive  as  his  own  blonde  coloring.  Her  white  throat  rounded 
into  a  sumptuous  chin  of  perfect  outline.  It  was  the  portrait 
of  Sonia,  Madame  Ramoniff,  whose  perfection  of  beauty  was 


38  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

unchallenged,  and  whose  audacities,  though  innocent,  led  her 
into  indiscretions  almost  too  flagrantly  unwise,  even  for  her 
merry  associates. 

His  memory  turned  to  Madame  Ramoniff  even  while  he  was 
giving  instructions  to  Saunders,  and  his  white  teeth  glistened 
in  a  self-satisfied  smile. 

"Sonia  is  coming  to  Paris  in  the  Spring.  I  believe  she  is 
the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  me.  I  wonder — " 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Marriage  by  Registrar. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MARRIAGE    BY    REGISTRAR. 

The  same  sunshine  that  was  shining  in  Paris,  flooded  the 
long  windows  of  Bedford  Square,  London,  glinting  and  flash 
ing  upon  Anne,  who  stood  looking  into  the  street.  It  gleamed 
on  the  few  passers-by,  radiating  golden  warmth  on  everything 
and  everybody.  It  turned  Anne's  black  hair  into  shimmer 
ing  red  and  gold,  and  warmed  the  electric  whiteness  of  her 
skin  into  glowing  tints  of  pink. 

She  was  thinking  of  her  lover — of  Hugh  Crawford,  the 
man  she  had  crossed  the  restless  Atlantic  to  marry  and  for 
whose  coming  she  longed  with  blissful  confidence,  and  her 
brain  was  teeming  with  loving,  passionate  fancies.  She  was 
only  a  girl,  independent  in  thought  and  action;  unspoilt,  un 
affected,  quiet  and  reserved,  and  her  eyes  brightened  and  her 
cheeks  flushed,  when  she  pictured  her  meeting  with  her  lover. 
Her  life  and  soul  were  his,  and  her  sweet,  dark  face  took  on  a 
strange  beauty,  believing  her  dreams  of  love  were  to  be  real 
ized — her  life  to  be  blessed. 

She  did  not  note  her  own  attractiveness — did  not  care  about 
the  splendor  of  her  dark  eyes  or  the  clearness  of  her  olive  skin 
— that  her  hair  was  a  veritable  crown  of  sable  glory.  She 
thought  only  of  Crawford — her  handsome  lover — the  splendid 
ruler  of  her  life  who  was  coming  to  her — to  make  her  his  own. 

She  knew  he  was  hers.  Her  own  man.  He  had  told  her  so 
when  they  exchanged  vows  and  planned  their  future  in  the 
old  home  in  La  Conner.  Every  word  he  had  uttered  had  been 
treasured  in  her  memory,  no  fear  or  doubts  tainting  it. 

She  was  passionate,  unworldly,  trustful,  ignorant  of  guile 
and  she  felt  herself  to  be  the  luckiest  girl  in  the  world. 

41 


42  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Though  Crawford's  letters  had  been  brief,  they  had  been 
tender.  In  the  simplicity  of  her  heart  she  read  much  between 
the  lines.  He  had  dwelt  on  the  charms  of  the  people  he  met, 
the  beauty  of  the  women,  of  their  cleverness  and  culture ;  and 
Anne,  made  ambitious  by  her  love,  studied  languages  and  ac 
complishments,  hoping  to  make  proud  the  man  of  her  heart. 
She  believed  him  to  be  so  good,  so  adorable,  that  she  marvelled 
at  her  good  fortune  and  gratefully  wondered  that  this  para 
gon  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 

''Wife — wife,"  She  blushed  when  she  murmured  the  dear 
word. 

Rumors  that  Crawford  was  sowing  wild  oats,  drinking 
heavily  and  associating  with  the  most  reckless  students  in  Ber 
lin,  had  reached  La  Conner,  but  no  one,  not  even  Miss  Hamil 
ton,  dared  repeat  all  the  scandal  to  Anne — besides  they 
thought  it  was  exaggerated. 

At  the  time  Hugh  Crawford  asked  Anne  to  marry  him,  he 
did  love  the  girl  and  for  the  time  was  absolutely  unconscious 
of  himself,  but  his  new  environment  and  friends,  and  the  al 
lurements  of  European  life,  enticed  him  away  from  her,  and 
his  love  died,  although  his  letters  misled  the  girl  into  think 
ing  she  still  was  all  the  world  to  him,  and  she  resented  any 
gossip  regarding  her  beloved.  When  several  intimate  friends 
in  the  little  community  remonstrated  with  Miss  Hamilton  for 
giving  in  to  Anne,  and  calmly  permitting  her  to  leave  her 
home  to  meet  Crawford  in  London,  the  girl  was  furious  but 
laughed  in  their  faces. 

"It's  too  bad  Anne  has  money.  If  Hugh  Crawford  was 
half  a  man  he  wouldn't  ask  her  to  meet  him,"  drawled  Mrs. 
Wotson,  one  of  Miss  Hamilton's  oldest  friends,  and  Mrs.  Wog- 
gles  wiped  her  eyes  when  she  answered,  "It  looks  strange  to 
me.  Anne  is  no  saint,  but  I'm  sorry  for  her.  It  would  take 
an  angel  to  live  happily  with  Hugh  Crawford — or  any  other 
pretty  man."  This  remark  ended  in  a  sorrowful  sniff.  Her 
own  husband  was  attractive. 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  43 

But  nothing  dampened  Anne's  spirits  and  she  departed 
happily  confident  that  felicity  awaited  her,  but  she  was  a 
timid  little  figure  when  she  arrived  in  Liverpool. 

After  giving  her  a  sweeping  glance,  her  aunt  Ridgway 
gathered  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  warmly. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  arrived  safely,  my  dear,"  she  ex 
claimed  in  a  deep,  musical  voice.  "I  hope  you  are  not  hor 
ribly  fatigued." 

''Oh,  the  voyage  was  perfect,"  Anne  declared,  "but  I  am 
thankful  to  be  on  land  again." 

"Give  your  keys  to  your  maid.  Your  trunks  must  be  ex 
amined.  We  want  to  catch  the  first  train  for  London." 

Anne  obeyed  meekly,  finding  it  very  pleasant  to  be  taken 
care  of  by  her  new  aunt. 

"I'm  sure  I'm  going  to  be  very  fond  of  you,  my  dear,  and 
the  girls  are  wild  to  know  you."  Lady  Eidgway  spoke  from 
the  heart  and  felt  that  her  daughters  need  not  fear  a  rival  in 
the  little,  dark,  American  cousin. 

"I  hope  they  will  like  me,"  Anne  responded  simply.  The 
color  was  rising  in  her  olive  cheeks  and  her  aunt  wondered 
if  the  girl  was  plain,  after  all. 

"We  have  planned  to  go  to  Paris  in  a  few  days.  You  won't 
be  too  tired  to  cross  the  Channel?" 

Lady  Ridgway,  marching  ahead,  did  not  see  the  expression 
that  lighted  Anne's  face,  nor  would  she  have  understood  the 
sigh  of  relief,  for  the  "Honorable  Misses  Ridgway"  never 
declined  a  trip  to  Paris.  But  Anne  made  up  her  mind  to 
plead  fatigue.  It  would  give  her  the  opportunity  of  meet 
ing  Hugh  without  making  excuses  and,  when  they  were  mar 
ried,  she  would  explain  everything  to  her  aunt. 

They  waited  at  the  "Adelphi"  until  train  time,  and  the 
new  atmosphere,  the  excitement  of  the  odd  compartments, 
the  fascinating  glimpses  of  lovely  scenery,  the  delirium  of 
arriving  at  the  Ridgways'  town  house,  kept  up  Anne's  spirits. 
But  not  even  the  welcome  she  received,  nor  the  luxurious 


44  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

rooms,  exquisitely  furnished,  which  had  been  prepared  for 
her,  served  to  lessen  her  disappointment  in  not  finding  a 
letter  from  Hugh. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Hugh  has  written  to  Bedford  Square,"  she 
said  when  Dora  was  dressing  her  for  dinner.  "He  may  be 
coming  any  day."  She  felt  hysterical,  and  when  she  and 
Dora  looked  at  each  other,  both  tried  to  smile  but  failed. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  you're  doing,  Miss  Anne,"  Dora 
said  quietly.  "It's  not  my  place  to  speak,  but  you  told  me 
all  about  Mr.  Hugh — and  I  wish  you'd  tell  her  ladyship.  I'm 
sure  she's  very  pleasant  and  would  like  you  to  be  married 
here — and  it  would  be  more  like  home — more  respectable-like. ' ' 

"Mr.  Hugh  says  he  does  not  want  to  see  anyone  but  me." 
Anne  colored  furiously  and  bristled.  "He  does  not  care  about 
my  relatives,"  and  Dora  said  no  more. 

Her  aunt  and  cousins  urged  and  begged  Anne  to  go  to 
France,  even  suggested  deferring  the  journey  until  she  was 
rested,  but  she  insisted  that  she  would  be  more  contented  if 
she  knew  she  was  not  interfering  with  their  plans — that  she 
preferred  remaining  in  London,  and  succeeded  in  convincing 
Lady  Ridgway  that  she  would  be  happier  alone,  with  Dora 
to  look  after  her. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  anxious  girl  sought  the  address 
Crawford  had  sent  to  her.  She  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
the  place  and  though  it  was  not  the  kind  of  a  house  she  ex 
pected,  it  appeared  quiet  and  respectable.  She  had  seen  no 
one  in  the  halls  when  going  to  the  rooms  that  were  reserved 
for  her,  but  this  was  London,  and  perhaps  select  boarding 
houses  were  as  different  from  those  at  home  as  was  the  accent 
of  the  people.  Still  she  could  not  repress  a  vague  feeling 
of  uneasiness,  and  wondered  how  she  would  be  married. 
Would  the  ceremony  be  brief — would  Hugh  bring  the  min 
ister  with  him?  She  almost  wished  she  had  allowed  Dora  to 
come  with  her.  A  gentle  tap  at  the  door  disturbed  her 
musings. 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  45 

' '  Come  in, ' '  she  cried  breathlessly,  and  the  landlady  entered, 
carrying  a  telegram  in  her  hand. 

"I  brought  it  myself,"  the  woman  said,  smiling  ingratia 
tingly.  "I  hope  you  are  quite  comfortable." 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  Anne  answered  coldly.  "Everything  is 
very  nice." 

She  stood  silent  while  the  woman  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
but  not  until  the  door  closed  after  the  retreating  figure,  did 
she  open  the  envelope  and  her  face  fell  when  she  read : 

"Detained  in  Paris  on  important  business.  "Will  write. 
Love.  Hugh." 

' '  Oh ! "  she  cried  childishly.  "  I  am  so  disappointed. ' '  But 
re-reading  the  message,  she  sighed  deeply  and  dried  her 
tears.  "Poor  boy!  It  is  harder  for  him  than  for  me,"  she 
thought  while  she  folded  the  printed  slip  and  laid  it  against 
his  card  in  her  purse.  "  I  '11  go  back  to  Dora  until  tomorrow. ' ' 

Though  the  serving  woman  knew  the  futility  of  attempting 
to  reason,  she  begged  to  go  with  Anne,  but  the  girl  blithely 
returned  alone  to  Bedford  Square  on  the  following  morning. 

The  promised  letter  had  arrived,  bidding  her  be  patient, 
and  with  a  wild  desire  to  obey  Crawford,  she  pulled  the  bell- 
rope  and  told  the  maid  to  bring  tea.  Sitting  at  the  tiny  table 
with  its  pretty  old-fashioned  service,  she  wrote  a  note  to  Dora 
saying  she  was  "all  right"  and  wished  toilet  articles,  changes 
of  linen  and  a  white  broadcloth  gown  brought  to  her.  Dora 
was  to  leave  them  with  the  maid.  She  added  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  see  Dora  and  would  "return  in  a  few  days  with 
Mr.  Hugh." 

To  the  students  of  morality  I  will  admit  the  absurdity  of 
Anne's  blind  confidence  and  Crawford's  shameful  selfishness, 
but  there  were  many  errors  in  their  affair. 

"I'm  as  lonely  as  if  this  house  were  a  wilderness,"  the  girl 
sobbed  while  she  lay  awake  in  the  darkness  of  the  third  night. 
"I'll  die  if  I  stay  here  another  day.  I  can't  bear  this 
suspense." 


46  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

But  in  the  morning  the  maid  brought  a  basket  of  roses  and 
a  note  from  Crawford.  He  would  be  with  her  as  soon  as  he 
had  delivered  a  package  entrusted  to  his  care  and  was  her 
"faithful  Hugh." 

With  a  hysterical  sob  she  buried  her  face  in  the  loveliness 
of  the  soft,  fragrant  petals,  and  responding  to  feminine  in 
stinct  stood  long  before  her  mirror,  gazing  into  it  and  praying 
— hoping  that  her  lover  would  find  her  attractive;  perhaps 
changed  for  the  better.  Color  came  to  her  face  and  the  bril 
liancy  of  happiness  illumined  her  eyes.  ''I  am  so  glad  I 
thought  of  a  white  dress,"  she  murmured  when  she  carefully 
arrayed  herself  in  the  soft  gown.  "There  is  nothing  so  pure 
and  appropriate  for  a  bride. ' ' 

She  looked  with  satisfaction  at  the  reflection  of  symmetrical 
slenderness — the  perfect  contour  of  bust  and  hip,  and,  smooth 
ing  the  material  with  caressing  fingers,  felt  her  heart  beating. 

Eager  impatience  gleamed  through  her  lashes  and  she  trem 
bled,  while  every  nerve  in  her  body  was  tingling  when  she 
recognized  Crawford's  step.  She  forgot  the  maid  in  the  hall, 
and  flung  open  the  door. 

"Hugh!"  she  cried,  and  impetuously  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck. 

He  half-carried  her  into  the  sitting  room  and  shutting  the 
door,  gathered  her  clinging  form  into  his  arms.  Her  brain 
and  heart  were  cleared  of  fears,  and  her  pulses  beat  madly 
when  he  held  her  from  him  and  she  saw  the  look  she  hoped 
for,  come  into  his  eyes — the  look  that  made  her  cry,  "You 
do  love  me.  I  have  not  changed." 

"Why,  my  little  Anne!  Yes,  you  are  changed.  I  did  not 
know  you  were  so  lovely." 

She  returned  his  kisses,  her  heart  on  her  lips. 

"I  am  so  glad  I  came  to  you,"  she  whispered.  "I  have 
wanted  you,  Hugh." 

"My  sweetheart — my  very  own!"  Crawford  looked  into  her 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  47 

face  while  she  nestled  in  his  arms.  ' '  What  a  little  girl  you  are, 
Anne." 

But  she  suddenly  straightened  and  tried  to  draw  herself 
from  his  arms.  "Where  is  the  minister?  Must  we  go  to  him ? 
I  thought— I—" 

"Don't  be  impatient,  darling."  Crawford  had  drunk  an 
extra  eye-opener  and  felt  irritated  by  the  interruption  to  his 
love-making.  "There  is  nothing  to  be  anxious  about.  You 
are  here.  We  love  each  other.  You  must  not  think  of  any 
thing  else." 

Anne  was  confused  for  a  moment.  Her  eyes  closed,  her 
lips  parted,  and  she  tried  to  speak  but  could  not.  Her  lover's 
voice  sounded  far  away,  but  she  tried  to  collect  her  scattered 
wits.  Why  should  she  be  frightened?  Perhaps  her  wonder 
ful  happiness  was  overpowering  her — surely  everything  was 
as  she  wished.  Hugh  was  with  her  and  loved  her.  There 
was  nothing  to  fear. 

"1  thought  you  would  bring  the  clergyman  with  you," 
she  feebly  whispered,  "and  won't  we  need  witnesses t" 

Impatience  showed  in  Crawford's  face.  He  let  her  with 
draw  herself  from  his  arms  and  retreat  behind  a  table. 

"We  are  both  young,  Anne — have  our  lives  before  us,  and 
I  am  going  to  try  to  make  every  moment  happy,  but  don't 
think  of  anything  but 'this  blessed  meeting — away  from  every 
thing  and  everybody.  You  have  made  me  the  proudest  man 
in  London  by  coming  to  me,  dear.  We  must  be  in  mutual 
accord,  and  you  know  you  are  safe  with  me?" 

"Of  course  I  am  safe,  but  we  must  be  married  right  away! 
Why,  Hugh,  can't  you  see  we  must  be  married  at  once.  Auntie 
— all  our  friends  at  home  are  waiting  to  hear  of  our  wedding," 
she  cried,  blushing  and  breathless.  A  deadly  surprise  that  he 
had  not  been  the. one  to  insist  on  their  immediate  marriage 
made  her  horribly  frightened.  "I  will  send  a  telegram  to 
my  aunt  Ridgway,"  she  continued.  "She  is  on  the  continent 
and — I — I  promised  auntie — " 


48  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Again  Anne  grew  incoherent. 

' '  Sweetheart,  I  do  not  want  to  put  a  yoke  about  my  neck, ' ' 
Crawford  answered  in  his  deep,  caressing  voice  which  robbed 
the  unexpected  words  of  their  brutality.  "This  is  not  the 
moment  to  argue,  dear,  but  I  am  not  prepared  to  marry  at 
present.  There  is  no  need  of  haste  or  anxiety." 

The  girl's  heart  was  beating  with  shame  and  fear,  and  put 
ting  her  hands  to  the  sides  of  her  face,  she  looked  straight 
into  the  eyes  of  the  man  before  her.  She  was  tragic  and  pale 
and  all  her  beauty  seemed  to  have  faded. 

"Good  heavens!  I  hope  she's  not  going  to  be  hysterical," 
Crawford  thought  irritably,  but  aloud  he  said  gently,  "You 
do  not  understand  me,  Anne.  I  love  you — adore  you,  as 
sincerely  as  ever;  but  there  are  reasons  that  make  marriage 
impossible — at  present."  His  eyes  blinked  nervously.  "I 
know  you  think  I  am  unreasonable  and  unkind,  but  I  have 
grown  away  from  the  old-fashioned  ideas  of  marriage.  It 
doesn't  really  make  any  difference  to  our  love  whether  a 
clergyman  mumbles  a  few  words  over  us  now,  or  ten  years 
from  now.  My  affairs  are  in  a  peculiar  condition —  " 

"I  have  money,"  interrupted  Anne.  "That  need  not  worry 
you." 

"It  is  not  likely  I  would  live  on  my  wife 's  funds. ' '  Craw 
ford  replied,  with  rising  temper.  "Heaven  forbid  that  it 
should  ever  come  to  that,  but  we  can  discuss  such  things  an 
other  time."  He  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  "I  have  always 
loved  you,  Anne.  Won't  you  trust  me?  Come  to  me, 
darling. ' ' 

"No,.no!  You  must  go  away — immediately.  I  am  going 
back  to  my  aunt's  home — to  Dora." 

It  seemed  as  if  another  woman  was  speaking.  All  the  bril 
liance  had  left  her  face,  her  voice  sounded  heartbroken,  and 
in  spite  of  half-drunken  egotism,  Crawford  dared  not  ap 
proach  her. 

His  mind  had  queer  angles  and  he  felt  a  spasm  of  shame. 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  49 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  leave  you  and  come  again  tonight 
or  tomorrow — but  no — I  can't  leave  you.  Don't  send  me 
away. ' ' 

Her  eyes  blazed  at  him,  she  turned  quickly,  disappeared 
into  the  inner  room,  and  locked  the  door  between  them. 

Crawford  angrily  stared  at  the  barrier  separating  them  and 
with  a  silent  oath,  left  the  house.  He  felt  that  he  was  in 
the  "deuce  of  a  stew"  and  swore  at  himself  for  writing 
drunken  letters.  Of  course  he  would  have  to  marry  Anne, 
and  she  was  a  dear  little  Puritan,  with  money  enough  to 
make  her  attractive  to  many  men,  even  if  they  did  not  care 
for  her  as  he  certainly  did;  but  their  marriage  meant  ruin 
to  his  hopes  of  social  prestige — and  what  would  Sonia  think? 

And  there  never  was  so  wretched  a  girl  as  Anne,  listening 
to  Crawford's  retreating  steps  and  sobbing,  though  her  eyes 
were  dry.  So  this  was  the  great  love  he  had  promised — this 
humiliation  and  counterfeit  of  affection.  And  how  mad — how 
romantic  she  had  been.  She  felt  her  heart  turning  to  stone. 
"I  do  not  understand.  I  thought  he  wanted  to  marry  me," 
she  moaned.  She  had  been  headstrong  and  felt  as  if  she  had 
broken  all  the  commandments.  She  shuddered  when  she 
thought  of  her  aunt  Hamilton  and  friends  in  La  Conner. 
What  would  they  think? 

"He  never  loved  me.  It  was  only  a  fancy  and  there  is  no 
Hugh  Crawford  like  the  one  I  thought  I  knew,"  and  as  the 
memory  of  her  pleading  and  Crawford's  refusal  to  marry  her, 
returned  with  stinging  force,  she  blushed  with  shame.  "Oh, 
I  am  sick  of  life,"  she  cried.  "I  want  to  go  home." 

When  Hugh  Crawford  left  the  house  sheltering  the  girl  he 
had  wantonly  insulted,  he  felt  more  and  more  shamed  and 
overwhelmed  that  he  had  allowed  his  vanity  to  get  him  in 
such  a  predicament.  Of  course  he  would  win  Anne's  forgive 
ness  and  no  harm  had  been  done.  No  one  was  aware  of  their 
meeting  except  Dora  who  was  devoted  to  her,  and  no  one 


50  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

need  ever  know  that  he  had  met  her  away  from  her  aunt's 
home. 

He  knew  she  was  well-connected  but  did  not  think  she  had 
influential  friends  in  Europe,  and  he  had  a  caddish  horror  of 
becoming  related  to  the  shabby-genteel  relatives  of  a  wife. 
But  he  felt  contemptible  and  guilty  and  concluded  to  see  the 
neighborhood  where  Anne's  people  lived. 

Jumping  into  a  taxi-cab,  he  gave  the  address  to  the  driver 
and  soon  found  himself  in  one  of  the  most  pretentious  quar 
ters  in  London.  He  was  entirely  unprepared  for  the  magni 
ficence  of  the  mansion,  but  he  ascended  the  steps  and  rang  the 
bell. 

Two  footmen  and  a  stately  butler,  with  stony  faces  and 
dignified  attention,  were  standing  ready  to  receive,  and  when 
the  American  entered,  he  noted  the  grandeur  of  the  hall. 

"Miss  Hamilton  is  not  at  home,"  the  butler  said  with  an 
impassive  face.  He  approved  of  Crawford's  appearance  and 
correct  attire.  "No  sir,  I  do  not  know  when  she  will  return, 
sir." 

"Give  my  card  to  her  aunt,"  Crawford  said  complacently, 
knowing  the  lady  was  on  the  continent,  but  he  was  amazed 
when  the  man  answered,  "Lady  Ridgway  is  abroad." 

Furious  at  his  own  folly,  he  retired.  So  Anne's  aunt  was 
a  titled  woman.  "Why  did  the  Hamiltons  make  a  secret  of  it  ? 
Why  had  not  Anne  disclosed  the  rank  of  her  people?  She 
had  never  given  him  the  right  to  think  she  was  wild  and 
what  had  possessed  him  to  ask  her  to  delay  their  marriage? 
He  entirely  forgot  his  selfish  motives  and  was  stunned  and 
grew  hot  and  cold,  while  he  sat  in  the  cab,  returning  as  fast 
as  he  could  to  Bedford  Square.  He  was  disgusted  with  him 
self.  If  he  had  listened  to  the  promptings  of  conscience,  he 
would  have  written  Anne  that  she  mistook  his  words ;  that 
their  marriage  would  not  bring  happiness  for  he  did  not  love 
her  as  she  deserved.  It  would  have  been  brutal,  but  not  so 
much  so  as  his  astonishing  and  abominable  request  for  her  to 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  51 

meet  him,  when  he  did  not  intend  to  make  her  his  wife  im 
mediately.  His  brain  was  befogged  from  debauches,  was 
dulled  to  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  and  he  was  not  en 
dowed  with  great  penetration.  Her  decision  to  come  to  him 
had  startled  him  but  had  not  aroused  the  better  instincts  of 
his  nature,  for  he  calmly  and  pitilessly  allowed  her  to  leave 
her  home  and  jeopardize  her  good  name,  that  he  might 
"explain"  his  new  ideas  of  modern  morality. 

He  never  thought  she  would  be  so  "difficult,"  for  her  let 
ters  had  breathed  mad  love,  and  passionate  adoration  and 
confidence — and  he  was  curious  to  see  her  again. 

Now  he  was  filled  with  devout  thankfulness  that  he  had  not 
refused  to  marry  her.  He  had  only  suggested  a  postpone 
ment. 

"After  all,  it  might  have  been  worse,"  he  muttered  as  he 
drew  in  a  deep  breath  of  the  frosty  air  from  the  open  win 
dow  of  the  cab.  "When  we  are  married  I  will  explain  that 
many  rich  American  girls  come  to  Europe  with  their  maids, 
ostensibly  to  perfect  themselves  in  some  art,  though  really  it 
is  to  enjoy  their  individual  rights  and  get  away  from  nar 
row  conventions.  So  there  was  truth  in  the  rumor  that  Anne's 
mother  was  of  noble  birth,  although  no  one  in  La  Conner  be 
lieved  it.  The  Hamiltons  are  so  democratic  that  they  scorn 
social  position,  and  consider  all  men  equal — if  they  are  good 
Presbyterians. ' ' 

Be  laughed,  and  leaning  back  in  the  cab,  lighted  a  cigar, 
calmly  arranging  the  future  to  suit  himself,  and  already  ap 
preciating  the  advantage  of  having  Anne  for  his  wife.  His 
handsome  face  flushed,  and  again  his  eyes  were  self-satisfied 
when  he  looked  into  the  street.  Ue  would  beg  Anne's  forgive 
ness,  plead  business  embarrassments,  and  insist  on  being  mar 
ried  at  once.  She  really  was  adorable — delicious;  much  more 
attractive  than  he  had  expected,  and  with  the  prestige  of  her 
family,  he  could  enter  circles  where  noAv  he  was  only  tolerated 


52  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

on  account  of  his  wealth  and  the  influence  of  a  few  powerful 
friends. 

He  eagerly  entered  the  house  he  had  left  in  such  a  different 
mood,  and  walking  lightly  up  the  hall,  knocked  at  the  door 
of  Anne's  rooms.  He  thought  he  was  steeled  to  accept  her 
reproaches  but  his  confidence  vanished  as  if  by  magic  when 
he  heard  her  cross  the  floor  and  unlock  the  door. 

Anne  thought  it  was  Dora  whom  she  had  sent  for,  and 
when  she  saw  Crawford's  face  tenderly  bending  toward  her, 
she  fell  back  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  oh!  F0w/"  she  cried,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands 
to  hide  her  tear-swollen  eyes — veiled  in  her  beautiful,  vibrant 
hair — an  exhausted,  trembling  girl. 

"My  darling,  forgive  me.  I  could  not  stay  away.  You  do 
not  understand  me,  dearest.  I  love  you  so  that  I  cannot  wait 
to  see  you  with  your  people.  You  must  let  me  speak — tell  you 
that  though  I  am  worried  and  should  not  ask  you  to  share  my 
anxieties,  I  cannot  live  without  you — my  ideal — my  wife. ' ' 

She  could  not  believe  her  ears  and  throwing  her  hair  from 
her  face,  turned  to  him. 

"Why  have  you  changed?  After  outraging  my  feelings 
and  humiliating  me,  why  have  you  come  back  ?  I  do  not  want 
to  be  your  wife.  We  would  never  be  happy — never  forget. 
You  have  killed  the  faith  I  had — or  was  it  love — or  fancy? 
Whatever  it  was,  is  dead. ' ' 

He  was  in  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

"Anne,  I  know  that  in  your  heart  you  do  not  mean  to  be 
cruel  to  me."  His  voice  vibrated  with  feeling.  It  was  very 
easy  to  arouse  his  passions  and  Anne's  recoil  from  his  offered 
caresses — her  angry  aversion,  made  her  eminently  desirable  to 
the  maji  who  ever  longed  to  possess  what  was  denied  him. 
"I  don't  wonder  that  you  doubt  me,  dear,  but  the  truth  is 
stronger  than  circumstances.  I  am  not  prepared  to  marry 
but  we  love  each  other,  and  you  will  not  ruin  my  life — our 
happiness.  You  must  send  for  Dora,  now  that  I  am  here,  and 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  53 

we  have  arrived  at  an  understanding.  I  will  get  a  license  and 
we  will  be  married  by  Registrar." 

With  tender  strength  he  clasped  the  girl  to  his  breast, 
kissed  her  hair,  cheeks  and  brow,  whispering  loving  promises, 
but  not  pressing  her  lips  until  the  gentle,  innocent  creature 
forgot  her  misery  and  nestled  in  his  arms. 

"I  have  sent  for  Dora,"  she  murmured.  "Oh,  Hugh,  why 
didn't  you  say  it  was  only  business  that  worried  you.  I 
thought  you  did  not  want  to  marry  me." 

Clothed  in  self-complacency,  and  expanding  with  delightful 
emotions,  Crawford  masterfully  accepted  her  ardent  affec 
tion,  and  kissed  her  sweet  mouth. 

The  news  of  their  marriage  was  cabled  to  Miss  Hamilton, 
and  when  Lady  Ridgway  received  her  announcement  cards, 
she  wondered  why  Anne  had  been  so  secretive  and  shook  her 
head  in  disapproval. 

"Anne  should  have  been  married  in  church  and  had  a  re 
ception  at  my  home.  The  Americans  do  things  queerly,"  she 
spluttered,  but  concluding  that  it  was  too  late  to  offer  advice, 
sent  presents  from  herself  and  "the  girls"  and  wrote  a  charm 
ing  letter  to  Anne,  expressing  the  hope  that  the  Crawfords 
would  accept  her  home  in  Devonshire  as  a  quiet  place  for 
their  honeymoon. 

Among  the  unexpected  presents  the  Crawfords  received, 
was  a  small  English  bull  dog,  sent  by  a  boy  relative  whom 
Anne  had  never  seen.  A  manly  letter  was  tied  to  the  heavy 
silver  collar,  wishing  the  new  American  cousin  every  happi 
ness,  and  much  to  Crawford's  amusement,  Anne's  eyes 
brimmed  over  with  tears  that  fell  on  the  animal's  surprised 
face,  and  "Fifi"  attempted  to  lick  the  hand  caressing  her. 

"You're  terribly  temperamental,  dear,"  her  husband 
laughed. 

Anne  blushed.  She  sometimes  feared  that  Crawford 
thought  her  silly,  and  wearied  of  her  too  constant  devotion, 
and  she  concluded  that  she  did  not  understand  his  nature.. 


54  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Shall  I  send  her  to  the  stables?"  she  asked.    "You  used  to 
be  fond  of  dogs.    Don't  you  remember — 

"  Oh !  for  goodness  sake,  keep  the  animal  with  you — keep 
your  precious  dog,  but  don't  everlastingly  refer  to  the  past. 
Forget  tY."  Seeing  her  look  of  wounded  astonishment,  he 
added  more  calmly,  "I  don't  want  to  be  cross,  dear,  but  look 
forward." 

Whatever  -Anne  may  have  thought,  she  did  not  say,  but 
Fifi,  as  if  knowing  that  she  had  permission  to  remain,  ca 
reered  around  the  room  in  joyous  abandon,  until  both  Craw 
ford  and  Anne  laughed,  and  muttering  something  about  an 
engagement,  the  young  husband  disappeared  for  the  even 
ing. 

Uninterrupted  love-making  is  apt  to  grow  tiresome,  but 
Anne  did  not  know  this,  and  wearied  her  husband  with  her 
too  evident  ardor  and  perpetual  admiration.  She  tried  to 
control  her  enthusiasms,  "Spanish  Spasms"  he  laughingly 
called  them,  but  her  heart  still  gave  great  bounds  when  she 
heard  his  foot-step  and  all  the  resolutions  of  self-control  went 
scattering  when  he  deigned  to  smile  on  her.  In  fact,  Anne 
Crawford  was  madly  in  love  with  her  husband. 

But  slowly  the  realization  that  she  did  not  really  share  his 
life,  and  that  he  often  preferred  to  seek  his  pleasures  with 
out  her,  dawned  on  her,  and  with  a  strange  self-compassion, 
she  tried  to  be  patient  and  good-natured. 

The  marriage  left  Hugh  Crawford  nothing  to  be  desired. 
He  had  married  a  rich  girl  of  aristocratic  connections  who 
opened  doors  that  would  have  been  closed  to  him.  He  had 
no  difficulties,  and  after  a  few  months  of  tiresome,  petty  mis 
understandings  and  espionage,  he  declared  his  right  to  free 
dom,  and  found  himself  as  unconfmed  as  before  his  marriage. 
Anne  did  not  care  for  show,  and  allowed  him  to  come  and  go 
as  he  chose,  soon  growing  into  the  habit  of  visiting  her  own 
particular  friends,  or  staying  alone  in  their  apartment  when 


MARRIAGE  BY  REGISTRAR.  55 

Hugh  was  entertaining — or  being  entertained,  by  the  dashing 
set  in  which  they  found  themselves. 

Anne,  reared  among  strict  Presbyterian  principles,  did  not 
approve  of  many  things  she  saw  in  English  society,  but  wisely 
ignored  what  did  not  please  her,  hedging  herself  around  with 
cold  reserve.  Her  new  friends  laughed  and  shook  their  shoul 
ders,  wondering  how  such  a  charming  man  as  Hugh  Crawford 
could  have  fancied  -her.  Occasionally  unpleasant  stories 
reached  her  and  there  were  scenes,  tears  and  kisses,  and  the 
young  wife  kept  more  and  more  to  herself. 

"I  don't  enjoy  myself  among  your  friends.  They  bore  me 
to  death  with  their  ways  of  looking  at  life,  so  I  am  better  away 
from  them,"  she  told  Hugh,  but  did  not  mention  that  she 
considered  them  foolish  and  vulgar. 

"I'm  supposed  to  'love,  honor,  and  obey,'  "  she  thought 
one  day  while  she  patted  the  head  of  the  little  dog  at  her 
knee.  ' '  Oh,  Fifi,  are  you  glad  you  are  just  a  little  doggie  with 
out  any  problems  to  solve  ? ' ' 

Fifi  sat  up  and  wrinkled  her  black  muzzle,  thought  it  over, 
then  gently  laid  her  head  in  her  mistress'  lap. 

"Will  we  go  for  a  ride,  and  when  we  are  out  in  the  country 
have  a  run  together — just  as  if  we  were  in  La  Conner?" 

Fifi  solemnly  rose  and  walked  to  the  door,  the  incarnation 
of  silent  understanding  and  fidelity. 

When  Anne  was  putting  on  her  gloves,  Crawford  came  into 
her  dressing  room. 

"Going  out?"  he  enquired  gayly,  looking  with  pride  and 
admiration  at  Anne,  who  was  wrapped  in  a  beautiful  chin 
chilla  coat.  "Your  furs  make  me  think  of  Russia,"  he  ex 
claimed.  "I'm  sorry  we  did  not  spend  the  New  Year  in  St. 
Petersburg,"  then  opening  the  door  for  her,  he  added,  "I 
won't  be  home  for  dinner,  dear.  Awfully  sorry." 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  Anne  replied  quietly, 
and  followed  by  her  dog,  coolly  passed  him. 


56  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Left  alone,  Crawford  laughed.  His  wife's  new  dignity 
amused  and  pleased  him. 

"I  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  spy  011  me,  and  worry  me 
to  death,  demanding  the  little  attentions  that  are  so  tiresome ; 
but  I  have  made  her  understand  that  1  am  master.  Anne 
isn't  exactly  exhilarating,  but  she's  not  a  bad  sort." 

He  absently  admired  his  reflection  in  a  mirror. 

"She  seemed  pretty  frigid  when  I  spoke  of  not  being  home 
for  dinner.  I  wonder  if  she  has  heard  anything  new  and 
I  do  hope  she  isn't  going  to  develope  into  a  jealous  woman 
and  spoil  my  fun  in  Paris." 


CHAPTER  V. 
Rifts. 


57 


CHAPTER  'V. 

BIPTB. 

In  February  the  Crawfords  went  to  Paris  and  moved  into 
Hugh's  handsome  apartment.  It  was  not  large  and  magnifi 
cent  as  was  the  Marquise  Tania's,  but  Anne  declared  it  just 
the  right  size,  but  she  would  have  thought  it  perfect  had  it 
been  wretched — because  it  was  Hugh's. 

When  she  resolved  to  keep  aloof  from  most  of  her  husband's 
intimate  friends,  she  displayed  good  judgment  and  saved  her 
self  many  shocks  and  slights.  Not  that  she  was  crushingly 
severe  or  aggravatingly  mild,  for  she  was  neither,  but  she  was 
too  simple  to  be  taken  seriously  by  the  men  and  women  which 
her  connections  and  the  combined  wealth  of  herself  and  her 
husband  drew  around  them.  Many  of  the  new  acquaintances 
were  snobs  (some  of  them  titled),  and  Anne  did  not  share 
her  husband's  veneration  for  the  "nobility"  as  it  is  called 
when  one  has  inherited  a  handle  to  one's  name,  though  she 
was  always  courteous,  but  her  stand-off-ishness  did  not  make 
her  popular. 

It  was  her  day  ' '  at  Home, ' '  and  Miss  Howard,  a  pretty  girl 
with  a  baby  stare  but  some  worldly  experience,  stood  beside 
her. 

"You  are  to  be  envied,  married  to  such  a  charming  man 
as  Mr.  Crawford,"  the  girl  babbled.  "He  is  so  fascinating 
— we  girls  adore  him." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  him,"  Anne  answered  sweetly,  al 
though  jealousy  made  her  cold.  "Naturally  I  think  my  hus 
band  all  that  is  good  and  noble. ' ' 

She  managed  to  keep  her  face  tranquil  when  Miss  Howard 
looked  at  her  with  an  amused  smile. 

59 


60  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Why,  Mrs.  Crawford,"  she  giggled,  "you  said  that  as  if 
you  didn't  appreciate  your  husband." 

"Oh,  you  are  mistaken,"  denied  Anne.  "I  do  appreciate 
Mr.  Crawford,  and  I'm  sure  both  he  and  I  are  keenly  alive  to 
your  nattering  interest." 

The  girl  turned.  She  did  not  quite  understand  Mrs.  Craw 
ford  and  much  preferred  the  society  of  her  handsome  hus 
band. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  to  Paris,"  she  murmured  con 
ventionally.  "I  hope  we  shall  meet  frequently.  Thank  you 
for  a  delightful  afternoon,  but  I  must  go." 

"And  I  am  very  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of  meeting 
you  on  your  first  visit  to  Paris — but  I  must  go  too. ' '  A  beau 
tiful  woman  came  forward,  graciously  holding  out  her  hand. 
It  was  Elizabeth  Barrett,  a  friend  of  Miss  Hamilton's,  and 
the  splendid  woman,  whose  presence  was  courted  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic,  warmly  kissed  Anne.  Crawford  stand 
ing  near  the  door,  smiled  with  good-natured  contempt  at  the 
warmth  of  the  salute,  but  came  toward  his  wife. 

"Did  you  know  that  Eleanor  Hardeen  is  in  Paris?  Her 
husband's  death  was  a  dreadful  shock,  but  she  has  recovered 
from  it.  She  is  visiting  me  and  sends  her  love  to  you."  Mrs. 
Barrett  turned  to  Hugh.  "You  do  not  know  her  though  your 
wife  and  she  were  devoted  to  each  other.  They  seem  to  have 
drifted  apart." 

"Because  of  marriage,  I  suppose".  Crawford  smiled 
suavely.  "She  must  be  a  good  deal  older  than  Anne.  I  re 
member  hearing  of  the  wedding. ' ' 

He  saw  no  element  to  interest  him  in  this  social  by-play,  and 
decided  that  a  protege  of  the  Barrett's,  and  an  old  friend  of 
his  tiresome  wife,  would  hardly  be  an  exciting  addition  to 
his  list  of  acquaintances. 

A  silvery  laugh  rang  from  the  smaller  room  leading  from 
the  corridor,  and  with  a  hasty  apology  he  excused  himself  and 
hurried  in  the  direction  of  the  musical  sound. 


J?JFT$.  61 

Anne  was  disconcerted.  Her  heart  palpitated  with  a  fierce 
intolerable  feeling  of  mortification  at  her  husband's  rudeness. 
She  had  not  yet  learned  to  entirely  control  her  features  or 
emotions,  and  frankly  stared  after  Crawford  and  waited  for 
some  new  and  obvious  humiliation. 

With  quiet  understanding  of  the  scene,  Mrs.  Barrett  rose 
to  go.  She  gave  no  indication  that  she  had  seen  Anne's  agita 
tion  and  offered  her  hand  again. 

"You  will  come  to  see  me  very  soon,  won't  you?  Are  you 
going  to  the  Salon?  Eleanor  is  going  with  us.  She  does  not 
wear  mourning — does  not  believe  in  it,  but — " 

"Oh,  I  will  be  there,"  Anne  exclaimed  eagerly.  "I  am  so 
glad  you  mentioned  it.  Thursday  afternoon,  isn't  it?" 

"That  little  girl  has  the  same  unforgettable  eyes,"  mused 
Elizabeth  Barrett  when  she  sat  in  her  car,  speeding  back  to 
her  hotel,  "and  she  is  very,  very  unhappy." 

Most  of  the  guests  had  gone,  Crawford  had  not  reappeared 
and  Anne  sent  for  her  dog. 

"I'll  never  be  a  credit  to  Hugh  in  a  social  way,  I  dislike 
all  this  falseness,  but  if  it  pleases  him  I  suppose  I  will  have 
to  do  my  share  of  entertaining." 

She  looked  so  severe  that  Fifi,  solemnly  entering  through 
a  rear  door,  whimpered  and  bristled. 

"Be  still,  you  little  agitator,"  reproved  Anne,  and  Fifi  sub 
sided,  though  she  had  a  hungry  look  in  her  eyes  when  Craw 
ford,  accompanied  by  a  gloriously  lovely  woman,  entered  the 
salon,  his  face  radiant  as  he  brought  the  later  caller  to  his 
wife. 

"Anne,  I  want  you  to  know  Madame  Ramoniff — "  he  began 
ceremoniously,  but  Madame  interrupted, 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Crawford,  I  am  glad  of. the  opportunity  of 
meeting  Hugh 's  wife.  We  are  old  friends  and  visit  the  same 
houses  in  Germany  and  Russia,  and  all  of  his  friends  have 
been  very  anxious  to  know  the  sweet  Avife  he  has  won." 

"Oh,  he  has  told  me  of  you,"  Anne  answered  cordially. 


62 

"He  wrote  of  your  beautiful  homes,  one  in  Vienna  and  an 
other  in  St.  Petersburg — on  the  Moika  is  it  not?  He  has 
promised  to  take  me  to  Russia. ' ' 

11  Oh,  yes!  Yes,  indeed!  I  shall  never  forget  St.  Peters 
burg,  ' '  Crawford  burst  out,  and  his  wife  turned  to  him  in  sur 
prise.  He  spoke  nervously  and  rapidly,  and  it  was  very 
unusual  for  him  to  show  embarrassment.  "To  return  is  the 
dream  of  my  life,"  he  added. 

Madame  Ramoniff  stared  at  him  with  a  mocking  look  in 
her  direct  glance  and  showed  her  perfect  teeth  in  a  dazzling 
smile. 

"Hugh — "  Her  eyes  turned  to  Anne.  "You  will  not 
mind  if  I  call  your  husband  by  his  Christian  name — he  is  such 
a  boy.  We  are  fond  of  him  because  he  says  such  delightful 
things,  and  we  all  enjoy  a  little  flattery,  do  we  not?" 

She  spoke  easily  but  her  words,  innocent  in  themselves,  car 
ried  a  vague  feeling  of  distrust  to  Anne's  heart. 

"Hugh  met  many  charming  people  since  he  came  to  Europe 
and  has  so  many  new  friends  that  I  am  bewildered,"  she  de 
clared,  trying  to  stifle  the  jealousy  rising  in  her  breast.  "But 
it  is  not  surprising  that  he  particularly  mentioned  you, 
Madame.  He  could  not  help  it." 

Hugh  laughed  and  sauntered  away  and  Anne  drew  her 
guest  to  a  settee. 

"You  do  not  live  in  Paris,  Madame  Ramoniff?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  keep  an  apartment  here — live  here  part  of 
every  year,  but  our  home  is  in  Russia.  My  husband — my  chil 
dren  are  Russian.  I  am  Viennese,  but  love  Paris — it  has 
the  joyous  atmosphere — it  is  always  gay — there  is  always 
what  your  husband  calls  'a  good  time'  here." 

She  spoke  with  a  delicious  accent,  her  voice  rising  and 
falling  in  the  delightful  Viennese  way  of  speaking,  and  Anne 
was  astonished  at  the  purity  of  her  English. 

"No !  I  must  not  stay  any  longer,"  she  insisted  when  Anne 
offered  refreshments.  "I  promised  that  good-looking  hus- 


KIFT8.  63 

band  of  yours  that  1  would  call  today,  and  I  hope  you  will 
allow  me  to  come  again — very  soon ;  and  you  must  come  to  see 
me. ' ' 

Anne's  eyes  were  sombre  when  Madame  Ramoniff  took  leave. 
She  wondered  that  her  husband  had  not  mentioned  calling  on 
this  beautiful  woman,  and  remembered  how  his  first  letters 
from  Berlin  had  been  full  of  her  kindness  to  him. 

"Has  Madame  gone?" 

Anne's  lips  tightened  at  the  tone  of  her  husband's  voice. 

"I  hope  you  were  cordial  to  her,"  he  continued.  "She  is 
a  good  woman  for  you  to  know — to  copy.  I  hope  she  liked 
you." 

Anne  smiled  unpleasantly. 

"And  I  hope  I  am  always  polite  under  my  own  roof,"  she 
answered.  ' '  Madame  Ramoniff  is  coming  again. ' ' 

"Don't  be  cross,  dear,"  Crawford  returned  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "You  always  do  the  right  thing,  I  know.  I  am  un 
der  obligation  to  Madame  Ramoniff  and  her  husband  for 
many  kindnesses  in  the  past,  and — " 

"I  try  to  please  you,  Hugh,"  Anne's  eyes  were  cold.  "I  try 
to  be  agreeable  to  all  your  friends." 

"And  succeed  too,"  Crawford  answered,  playfully  imitat 
ing  her  tragic  tone.  He  was  too  prudent  to  appear  to  notice 
his  wife's  curtness.  "This  is  different  from  La  Conner,  dear. 
You're  quite  a  grand  lady." 

"No,  I  will  never  be  that,  Hugh."  She  paused  and  ingenu 
ously  betrayed  what  was  troubling  her.  "Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  that  you  went  to  see  that  Russian  woman?" 

"Madame  Ramoniff  is  not  a  Russian  woman,  but  an  Aus 
trian  lady,"  corrected  Crawford.  His  expression  was  not 
good  to  see.  "I  don't  know  that  I  ever  made  it  a  practice  to 
report  my  goings  and  comings  to  you,  and  look  here,  Anne, 
we  may  as  well  continue  to  live  like  rational  beings.  I'm  not 
a  man  to  stand  for  nagging." 


64  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

A  yellowish  pallor  crept  over  her  face  when  Anne  watched 
him  fling  himself  out  of  the  room.  It  was  their  first  serious 
tiff. 

On  the  following  Thursday  afternoon  the  Crawfords  at 
tended  the  Art  Exhibit  at  the  Salon.  The  building  was  full 
of  gorgeously  attired  women,  and  aristocratic  looking  men, 
holding  their  catalogues  and  gossiping  in  low  tones  of  art 
and  artists. 

The  Barretts  were  already  there,  and  watching  for  the 
Americans.  A  strikingly  lovely  girl  flung  her  arms  around 
Anne's  neck.  It  was  Eleanor  Hardeen. 

The  slender  young  widow  was  too  indifferent  to  notice  the 
flash  of  pain  in  Anne's  eyes  when  Crawford  impulsively 
stepped  forward,  but  she  inwardly  remarked  that  Anne's 
husband  was  quite  different  from  any  man  she  had  ever  met. 
When  he  saluted  her,  she  smiled  at  his  open  glance  of  admira 
tion.  She  noted  that  his  face,  eyes,  hair  and  skin  seemed  al 
most  artificial  in  their  perfection  and  that  his  whole  bear 
ing  radiated  joyous  self-satisfaction.  She  smiled  when  she 
thought  that  her  aunt  Ellen  Deak  would  have  dubbed  him 
"a  pretty  man." 

Anne  looked  insignificant  beside  her  Greek-god  of  a  hus-. 
band,  and  the  young  widow's  heart  was  puzzled  when  she 
contemplated  the  young  married  people. 

Hugh  Crawford  was  thanking  his  stars  that  he  had  given 
in  to  Anne  and  brought  her  to  the  Exhibit.  He  had  ex 
pected  to  be  bored,  for  Art,  with  a  capital  A,  did  not  appeal 
to  him,  and  to  meet  this  luscious  new  beauty  was  a  delightful 
surprise.  The  little  party  of  Americans  stood  in  front  of  a 
painting  by  Bouquereau,  admiring  the  wonderful  work  of  the 
master,  but  Crawford's  gaze  wandered  from  the  canvas  and 
he  furtively  watched  Anne's  friend,  thinking  her  more  inter 
esting  than  any  painting  could  possibly  be. 

Eleanor  suddenly  looked  at  him  and  her  cold,  puzzled 
scrutiny  amazed  him.  At  last  he  had  met  a  woman  who  did 


RIFTS.  65 

not  betray  any  gratification,  or  interest  in  his  glances  and 
her  indifference  compelled  an  unwilling  respect.  Her  serene 
coldness  made  the  susceptible  Hugh  Crawford  an  instant 
adorer,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  bring  response  into  the 
eyes  of  this  beauty  who  looked  ardent  as  fire,  and  whose  calm 
poise  attracted  his  errant  fancy.  But  his  face  did  not  betray 
his  thoughts  and  he  became  almost  lover-like  in  his  attentions 
to  his  wife. 

Anne  looked  at  him  sarcastically.  She  had  watched  his  face 
when  he  was  introduced  to  Eleanor,  and  was  miserable  with 
jealousy.  The  temper  of  her  Spanish  ancestress  blazed  in  her 
heart;  burning,  proud,  indomitable,  but  she  tried  to  act  as 
if  a  new  pain  had  not  entered  her  breast.  She  was  very  sensi 
tive  to  psychic  influences,  and  felt  that  this  meeting  of  her 
husband  and  friend  was  going  to  bring  trouble. 

She  grew  to  dislike  Paris — hated  the  snow  that  never  lasted, 
but  turned  to  unpleasant  slush,  and,  with  the  perversity  of 
human  nature,  she  irritated  and  estranged  the  husband  she 
adored,  by  impatient  grumbling,  or  disdainful  coldness.  She 
grew  careless  about  her  appearance  and  sometimes  Crawford 
looked  at  her  with  surprise  and  aversion,  wondering  how  he 
ever  could  have  thought  her  attractive. 

Taking  everything  into  consideration  it  is  not  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  the  Crawfords'  married  life  was  a  failure  or  that 
Crawford  grew  more  stupidly  self-complacent  and  enjoyed 
the  freedom  that  European  custom  accords  to  men — mar 
ried  or  single. 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  enjoy  myself  in 
my  own  way,"  he  concluded.  "Anne  is  abominably  unpleas 
ant  and  unreasonable.  She  pretends  to  love  me — and  suc 
ceeds  in  making  our  lives  a  burden." 

He  commenced  to  think  she  had  tricked  him  into  marrying 
her,  and  forgot  the  days  of  his  boyhood  when  he  truly  loved 
her.  He  really  had  nothing  but  his  money  and  handsome 
appearance — his  caressing  voice  and  perfect  manners,  to  rec- 


66  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

ommend  him ;  for  all  his  splendid  aims,  and  ambitious  desires 
of  "doing  something  worth  while"  and  making  a  place  for 
himself  in  the  profession  he  had  chosen,  were  forgotten  in 
the  mad  lust  for  pleasure  and  self-indulgence. 

Although  Anne  frequently  met  Eleanor  Hardeen,  there  was 
no  continuance  of  their  girlhood  intimacy,  and  the  young 
widow,  who  was  having  a  very  agreeable  stay  in  Paris,  did 
not  seem  to  regret  it. 

One  afternoon,  when  Anne  was  returning  from  shopping,  sin- 
instructed  her  chauffeur  to  take  her  slowly  through  the 
Champs  Elysees.  Her  car  was  closed,  for  the  weather  was  still 
cold.  She  leaned  forward,  watching  the  men  and  women, 
children  and  nurses,  walking  under  the  bare  trees,  laughing 
and  ruddy,  apparently  enjoying  the  cold  and  snow,  when 
suddenly  she  saw  her  husband,  walking  with  Eleanor  Hardeen 
and  her  little  son. 

She  had  forgotten  there  was  a  child  although  Eleanor  had 
written  to  her  of  her  baby.  But  that  was  centuries  ago — 
when  she  was  happy — when  Hugh  loved  her. 

The  boy  was  running  ahead  of  his  mother,  playing  with  a 
blanketed  poodle,  and  Hugh  Crawford  and  the  laughing, 
rosy  woman  beside  him  made  a  superb  couple. 

Eleanor  was  quietly  dressed  in  a  dull  cloth  gown,  but  her 
sables  were  wonderful,  and  from  the  black  velvet  toque  to  the 
dainty  shoes,  she  was  a  vision  of  simple  and  costly  magnifi 
cence. 

Anne  noticed  the  satisfaction  on  her  husband's  face,  and 
the  bright  animation  of  the  beautiful  woman  he  was  bending 
over. 

"Dear  God!"  she  cried  bitterly,  "Why  was  I  not  beauti 
ful?  Why  should  Eleanor  have  everything,  and  I  be  denied, 
even  the  hopes  of  motherhood?" 

She  crouched  back  in  her  machine,  fearing  they  would  see 
her  and  imagine  she  was  spying  upon  them ;  but  she  need 
not  have  worried,  for  neither  Hugh  Crawford  nor  Eleanor 


RIFTS.  67 

Hardeen  were  thinking  of  anything  save  the  pleasurable 
excitement  of  an  unexpected  meeting. 

"Perhaps  there  is  safety  in  numbers,"  Anne  thought 
while  she  gulped  back  a  sob,  "I  was  always  jealous  of  some 
body — even  at  home,  and  here  I  first  thought  hardly  of 
Madam  Ramoniff,  then  of  that  Marquise  whom  everyone 
gossips  about — and  now  it  is  Eleanor.  I  guess  1  do  lack  tact 
and  diplomacy  and  character,  just  as  Hugh  says."  She 
knotted  her  brows.  Suddenly  it  flashed  across  her  mind  that 
she  would  go  away — go  to  London.  Her  aunt  would  be  glad 
to  see  her,  and  Hugh  might  miss  her  and  follow — or  he 
might  be  persuaded  to  leave  this  dreadful,  tempting  Paris 
and  go  with  her. 

Of  late  she  seldom  saw  Crawford  in  the  evening,  unless 
they  were  slated  to  appear  at  some  social  function  together, 
but  she  sent  Saunders  for  him.  He  came  immediately, 
dressed  for  dinner,  and  charmingly  deferential  in  manner. 

"You  are  not  in  a  hurry,  I  hope,"  Anne  asked,  cold  with 
nervousness.  "I  want  to  speak  seriously  with  you." 

She  tried  to  be  ironical  but  only  succeeded  in  sounding  dis 
agreeable. 

"Can  you  spare  a  few  minutes  to  your  wife?" 

"Why,  yes!  Certainly,  dear,"  Crawford  was  vaguely 
alarmed  at  her  unusual  manner.  "I  am  proud  that  you  sent 
for  me." 

He  noticed  that  she  had  grown  thin  and  sallow.  She  still 
showed  traces  of  the  tears  she  had  shed  when  she  saw  him 
with  her  friend  and  lines  of  pain  on  either  side  of  her  pome 
granate-red  mouth  made  her  look  severe  and  years  older  than 
she  was.  Her  husband's  eyes  were  extremely  observant,  and 
he  felt  a  little  sorry  for  her. 

"She's  been  having  one  of  her  silent  tantrums,"  he  thought, 
dreading  a  scenee,  and  commenced  to  feel  impatient. 

"Well?"  he  asked  brusquely.  "What  did  you  want  to 
see  me  about?" 


68  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"I  want  to  go  away  from  Paris,"  she  ventured  hesitatingly. 
"I  want  you  to  take  me  over  to  London." 

Crawford  gazed  at  her  with  astonishment,  then  with  dis 
tinct  relief.  If  Anne  were  out  of  the  city  he  could  enjoy  many 
privileges  alone  that  now  included  her.  He  was  dazzled  with 
instant  flashes  of  anticipation,  but  tried  not  to  show  how  de 
lighted  he  was  at  the  prospect  of  her  departure. 

"You  do  not  look  well,  dear,"  he  commented,  looking 
kindly  at  her.  ' '  Paris  does  not  seem  to  agree  with  you.  You 
are  very  sensible.  You  had  better  start  as  soon  as  possible 
and  I  will  try  to  follow  you  soon." 

"You  cannot  go  with  me  now?" 

She  spoke  with  a  catch  in  her  breath,  hoping — praying, 
that  he  would  ask  her  to  wait  until  they  could  go  together. 

"No.  At  present  it  is  impossible,  but  I  will  go  as  far  as 
Boulogne.  I  shall  send  Saunders  across  with  you  and  you 
have  Dora  to  look  after  your  comfort.  You  are  wise  in  going 
at  once,  dear." 

Her  dark  face  betrayed  her  inward  rage  and  she  stared 
at  him  fixedly.  "You  needn't  think  of  going  to  Boulogne 
with  me,  Hugh,"  she  said.  "You  need  go  to  no  trouble." 

"What  I  do  for  you  is  not  trouble,  Anne." 

She  laughed — a  low,  unmusical  sound  that  strangled  in 
her  throat,  for  she  knew  the  value  of  his  false-courteous 
words — knew  in  her  heart  that  he  was  glad  she  was  going 
away. 

"You  promise  to  come  for  me?" 

' '  Yes !  Of  course ! "  He  looked  at  his  watch.  ' '  Is  this  all 
you  wanted  to  say?  I  must  be  going — I'm  late  now,  but  I'll 
see  you  in  the  morning.  I  suppose  we  won't  run  across  each 
other  to-night." 

After  he  had  left  her,  the  remembrance  of  his  polite  in 
difference  filled  Anne  with  fury,  and  his  secrecy  about  walk 
ing  with  Eleanor  made  her  ill  with  jealous  rage.  She  hated 


RIFTS.  69 

herself  for  being  such  a  fool  as  to  love  this  man  who  con 
sidered  her  less  than  nothing. 

' '  But  he 's  my  husband.  I  married  him.  I  've  made  my  bed 
— I  must  lie  on  it,"  she  repeated  slowly.  "But  he  doesn't 
care  for  me.  He  never  cared." 

The  next  day  she  left  for  London  and  was  nervously  con 
scious  of  the  smile  on  her  husband's  lips  when  he  kissed  her 
good-bye. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
Eleanor. 


71 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ELEANOR. 

Eleanor  Hardeen,  the  latest  whim  of  Hugh  Crawford's  fickle 
heart,  was  the  only  child  of  Philip  Deak,  capitalist  and  rail 
road  magnate.  She  was  a  recognized  beauty,  good-natured, 
impulsive,  and  had  been  so  accustomed  to  luxury  and  adula 
tion,  that  she  was  carelessly  indifferent  to  conventions  and 
not  in  the  least  aware  that  she  was  selfish  and  overbearing. 

She  amused  herself  with  Crawford's  attentions  because  he 
flattered  her  and  helped  her  forget  the  tragic  death  of  her 
husband.  But  she  adored  her  boy  and  never  intended  to 
marry  again.  Of  course  that  did  not  mean  that  she  should 
be  perpetually  mournful.  In  reviewing  the  last  months  of 
her  married  life,  she  concluded  that  fate  had  not  been  un 
favorable  to  her  when  it  made  Hardeen  take  the  last  fatal 
ride.  As  it  was,  she  still  had  some  fond  memories  of  him — 
though  she  had  no  more  illusions. 

Her  mother  had  died  when  Eleanor's  little  brother  was 
born,  and  pale  day  was  breaking  into  promise  of  glorious 
brightness  when  the  child,  so  anxiously  desired,  but  weakly 
wailing,  was  left  to  the  care  of  a  nurse,  in  the  terror  and 
excitement  of  his  advent  into  the  world. 

Eleanor  was  aroused  from  sleep  by  hearing  whispers  as 
her  own  nurse  left  the  room,  and  listened  to  hurried  footsteps 
passing  through  the  house.  She  knew  she  was  not  to  disturb 
her  beloved  Daddy  whose  face,  distorted  by  anguish,  broke 
her  childish  heart,  but  she  climbed  out  of  bed  and  descended 
the  stairs.  She  heard  a  baby  crying  and  silently  opening  a 
door,  looked  with  wide-eyed  amazement  at  Maggie,  her 
own  nurse,  bending  over  a  baby. 

' '  Holy  mother ! ' '  exclaimed  the  woman,  ' '  Oh  !  Miss  Ellie, 

73 


74  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

it's  a  sad  day  for  you — a  sad  day,"  and  she  gathered  the 
two  motherless  children  to  her  warm  Irish  heart. 

The  mother's  fortune  was  left  entirely  to  the  children,  and 
Miss  Ellen  Deak  took  immediate  charge  of  the  household  and 
devoted  herself  to  her  brother  and  his  children. 

Philip  Deak,  considered  a  hard  man  by  the  world,  was  gen 
tle  as  a  woman  to  his  family.  He  adored  the  boy  and  girl, 
even  grudging  their  necessary  absences  at  school,  and  their 
vacations  were  an  unalloyed  delight — usually  spent  on  his 
yacht  or  travelling  from  one  beauty  spot  to  another  in  his 
private  car. 

The  death  of  his  boy,  Philip  the  second,  as  he  was  affection 
ately  called,  almost  killed  the  great  financier,  and  his  whole 
heart  centered  on  Eleanor. 

Aside  from  beauty  of  face  and  form,  the  girl  had  the  won 
derful  coloring  of  her  Irish  mother.  She  w,as  piquant,  sym 
pathetic  in  manner  and,  until  her  death,  would  attract  and 
retain  the  interest  of  the  sterner  sex. 

It  was  not  the  blood  that  glowed  in  her  clear  cheeks,  or 
the  brightness  of  the  blue  eyes  that  made  her  so  irresistible, 
but  the  spirit  that  laughed  and  danced  in  her  face — the  charm 
of  her  Irish  smile. 

She  was  quite  different  from  the  Deaks,  who  were  renowned 
for  their  classically  beautiful  features.  Even  Ellen  Deak, 
fair  and  forty,  was  a  handsome  woman  of  patrician  comeli 
ness  and  perfect  outlines,  and  she  had  the  animation,  but  not 
the  soft  charm  of  the  admiration-compelling  Eleanor. 

The  girl  was  nineteen  years  old  when  Jasper  Hardeen  first 
met  her.  The  Deaks  were  yachting  off  the  coast  of  Maine 
and  a  party  from  another  yacht  visited  them,  bringing  Har 
deen,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Eleanor  avoided  a 
man's  gaze. 

Jasper  Hardeen  never  forgot  the  meeting.  He  had  met 
many  women.  Glances  had  flashed  at  him — brilliant  smiles 
and  perfect  curves  had  attracted  him — but  they  had  not  been 


ELEANOR.  75 

of  more  than  passing  interest,  and  when  he  met  Eleanor  Deak 
it  seemed  as  if  all  his  dreams  of  fair  women  were  combined 
in  the  face  and  form  of  the  splendid  girl ;  and  in  spite  of,  or 
because  of  his  strong  masculinity,  he  became  a  humble  sup 
pliant  for  her  hand,  overwhelmed  by  his  own  unworthiness 
in  winning  the  maiden  who  had  conquered  his  heart. 

When  she  lifted  her  frank  eyes  to  his  and  smiled,  he  felt 
chilled  by  her  friendly  interest — then  encouraged  by  the  ex 
pression  of  pleasure  that  lifted  the  corners  of  her  delicious 
mouth,  and  her  warm,  exquisite,  human  beauty  aroused  sen 
sations  of  fervid  admiration.  He  longed  to  kiss  her  lips,  and 
for  the  first  time,  felt  that  money  and  birth  would  have  no 
influence  in  breaking  down  the  barriers  that  existed  between 
his  dissipation  and  her  innocent  purity.  He  was  old — very 
old,  in  experience.  But  she  did  not  know  that.  She  was 
kept  in  the  usual  ignorance  that  surrounds  young  girls  re 
garding  moral  and  physical  purity,  and  gladly  welcomed  his 
attentions  with  the  loving  abandon  of  a*i  affectionate  child. 
She  did  not  hide  her  admiration,  but  his  love  made  him  doubt 
his  powers  of  persuasion,  though  he  determined  to  try  to 
win  her.  The  courtship  was  short  and  ardent,  and  Philip 
Deak,  who  saw  what  was  going  on,  spoke  to  his  sister  about  it. 

"For  goodness  sake!  Don't  act  like  a  ninny,"  she  com 
mented.  "Let  them  be  happy." 

Her  own  life  had  been  changed  by  the  interference  of  her 
well-meaning  brother,  who  had  not  wanted  her  to  marry 
the  one  man  she  had  loved,  because  he  was  poor.  But  she 
had  given  her  promise  and  was  still  engaged  to  the  lover  of 
her  youth,  who  had  fought  his  way  to  fortune,  and  had 
"horse  ranches"  in  the  west.  But  she  had  never  had  the  cour 
age  to  leave  her  brother. 

"But — of  course  I  want  her  to  be  happy — ,"  grumbled 
Deak  indignantly.  "But — I  don't  like  him,  Ellen." 

Miss  Deak  looked  at  the  man  of  millions  with  contemptuous 
antagonism  for  a  moment,  then  burst  out  rudely: 


76  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"So  you  don't  like  him?  He  doesn't  want  to  inarry  you, 
does  he?" 

"But  he's  wild." 

"You  won't  find  many  King  Arthurs  in  society  nowadays. ' ' 

"All  men  are  not  roues  either,"  Deak  demurred.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  speak  seriously  to  Eleanor.  She  doesn't  think  of  mar 
riage.  She  is  only  a  child  at  heart." 

"She  may  surprise  you!  Did  Jasper  Hardeen  ask 
you  for  her  hand?"  Miss  Deak  spoke  with  the  primness  of 
the  early  Victorian  epoch. 

"Yes!     He  asked  my  consent  to  speak  to  her." 

When  Philip  Deak  found  his  daughter  she  was  standing 
by  Hardeen  at  the  side  of  the  railing,  looking  into  the  water. 
Her  face  was  brilliant  with  color  and  she  slipped  her  hand 
through  her  father's  arm. 

' '  We  were  just  speaking  of  you,  Daddy, ' '  she  said.  ' '  You  're 
neglecting  me — frightfully. ' ' 

"Well,  I'm  going*  to  devote  a  little  time  to  you  now.  I 
would  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you  when  you  can  spare 
your  poor  old  father  a  moment,"  he  answered  lightly,  but 
the  girl  detected  sadness  in  his  voice. 

She  turned  to  Hardeen  who  understood. 

"I  must  go  back  to  my  friends."  He  nodded  toward  the 
yacht  near  them.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  something  of  a  nuisance. ' ' 

"Oh,  no!"  Eleanor  answered  impulsively,  then  when  the 
young  man  had  gone  she  turned  to  her  father.  "What's  the 
matter,  Daddy!" 

1 '  Come  down  to  my  cabin.    I  want  to  speak  with  you. ' ' 

She  followed,  wondering  at  his  tone  and  when  he  sat  down 
in  his  big  chair,  she  let  him  pull  her  down  on  his  knee. 

"Has  Hardeen  said  anything  to  you  that  you  want  to  ask 
me  about?"  floundered  her  father.  "Has  he — has  he  told 
you?" 

"He — he  said  he  had — had  spoken  to  you." 

"He  wants  to  take  you  away  from  me,  Eleanor.     I  don't 


ELEANOR.  77 

want  you  to  marry  him.  I  knew  his  father  and  loved  him — 
but  Jasper  is  not  like  the  old  man.  Do  you  want  to  go  away 
with  him  and  leave  me?" 

"We  could  be  with  you  very,  very  often,  Daddy." 

She  pressed  her  soft  cheek  to  her  father's  and  he  knew 
he  had  lost  her — the  bird  was  ready  to  leave  the  nest.  The 
blood  glowed  in  her  warm,  white  skin  and  joy  shone  in  the 
eyes  that  looked  into  his  with  a  suggestion  of  shyness  in  their 
laughing  depths. 

"Very  well,  Eleanor.  I  have  never  denied  you  anything, 
and  I  want  to  give  you  happiness,"  he  said  solemnly.  "God 
bless  you,  dear.  You're  very  like  your  mother.  I'll  speak 
to  Hardeen." 

Eleanor  kissed  him  and  went  to  her  own  cabin.  Miss 
Deak  who  had  been  inquisitively  watching,  followed  her,  and 
the  slender  spinster  smiled  interrogatively. 

"Eleanor!  You  are  engaged?  You  are  going  to  be  mar 
ried?" 

Eleanor  blushed. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  going  to  be  married  for  ages — I  am  going 
to  wait  until  you  marry  Andrew  MacVeety."  She  danced 
up  to  her  prim  aunt  and  laughing  heartily,  held  the  strug 
gling  lady  in  her  strong  young  arms. 

Three  years  after  the  Deak-Hardeen  wedding,  Eleanor 
Hardeen  looked  into  the  mistiness  of  an  English  rain.  The 
weather  was  miserable,  and  Devonshire,  the  country  usually 
perfect  to  live  and  hunt  in,  was  gray  and  sombre. 

The  scene  was  mysteriously  beautiful  in  the  pale,  opal 
light,  and  Eleanor,  gazing  from  the  window  of  the  nursery, 
felt  the  peculiar  charm.  The  house  was  old,  low  and  ramb 
ling,  without  any  of  the  up-to-date  conveniences  she  had 
been  accustomed  to,  but  her  husband  bought  the  place,  and 
she  was  placidly  satisfied.  She  didn't  care  where  she  lived 
so  long  as  her  little  son — little  Phil — was  with  her. 

It  was  fully  ten  minutes  since  the  luncheon  bell  rang,  and 


78  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

the  red  cheeked  butler  was  arranging  the  flowers  and  silver, 
when  his  ear  caught  the  sound  of  Eleanor's  light,  elastic 
step  and  she  entered  the  room. 

Three  years  had  made  a  great  difference,  and  the  dash 
ing  girl  had  developed  into  a  sumptuous  woman. 

Jasper  Hardeen  had  been  proud  of  the  beauty  and  merry 
light-heartedness  of  his  bride.  He  was  not  an  easy  man  to 
please,  but  she  had  satisfied  him — for  six  months,  then  he 
wearied  of  her  innocence. 

It  had  been  a  severe  shock  to  Eleanor's  vanity  to  find 
herself  set  aside,  for  all  her  life  she  had  received  homage 
and  consideration.  Her  health  was  not  good  but  when  her 
little  son  came,  she  found  comfort  and  never  betrayed  to 
Hardeen  how  deeply  his  indifference  wounded  her.  She 
was  essentially  Irish  and  resented  the  disappointment  her 
husband's  character  was  to  her,  but  philosophically  thought 
with  Celtic  patience: 

"After  all  I  have  little  Phil,  so  my  marriage  wasn't  exact 
ly  a  failure.  I'm  thankful  my  baby  was  a  boy." 

Hardeen  considered  himself  a  mighty  hunter  and  spent 
days  in  the  field.  His  wife  did  not  care  that  he  was  away 
and  was  calmly  enjoying  a  cutlet  when  she  saw  them  bring 
ing  him  home  to  her.  She  did  not  realize  the  seriousness  of 
his  injuries  although  his  shoulder  was  broken  and  he  had  a 
severe  cut  at  the  base  of  his  brain.  His  horse  had  failed 
him  at  a  stone  wall.  On  the  second  day  he  developed  a 
heavy  fever  and  a  few  hours  after  the  doctors  operated, 
Jasper  Hardeen  passed  away  without  regaining  conscious 
ness. 

Eleanor  cabled  the  news  to  her  father  but  requested  him 
not  to  come  to  her.  Her  husband  was  buried  in  the  little 
subterranean  vault  on  the  estate  he  had  left  to  his  son.  It 
was  his  request  and,  although  it  seemed  strange  to  Eleanor, 
she  followed  his  wishes. 

She  was  not  twenty-three  when  this  tragedy  came  to  her, 


ELEANOR.  79 

and  she  covered  up  the  past  as  best  she  could,  did  not  wear 
mourning  and  found  contentment  in  the  loving  eyes  of  her 
boy.  Pride  again  mounted  in  her  heart  and  a  resolution  to 
bring  Phil  up  to  clean,  honorable  manhood,  displaced  the 
shock  and  grief  of  her  husband's  death. 

"I  shall  always  keep  him  near  me,"  she  decided,  "and 
after  a  while — when  I  forget  some  things,  I  am  going  home 
to  father.  I  love  him  and  I  want  my  boy  to  love  him. ' ' 

She  was  lying  awake,  day-dreaming,  and  had  not  rung 
for  her  maid,  but  she  heard  little  Phil  running  down  the 
hall  and  called  to  him,  sitting  up  in  bed  and  wrapping  her 
self  in  a  soft  negligee  that  was  lying  on  the  chair  close  to 
her  hand.  She  was  a  vision  of  glowing  youth — a  poem  of 
delicate  color,  and  she  smiled  when  the  door  burst  open  and 
the  boy,  followed  by  his  nurse,  rushed  into  the  room.  The 
woman  smiled  admiringly.  She  had  been  with  Eleanor  be 
fore  the  baby  came  and  knew  some  of  the  trials  the  young 
wife  had  proudly  ignored. 

"You're  looking  lovely  this  morning,  Ma'am,"  she 
exclaimed,  not  impertinently  but  impulsively.  "You  do  look 
grand. ' ' 

Eleanor  laughed.     She  loved  flattery. 

"That's  because  I  am  happy  this  morning,"  she  said  lightly. 

She  had  the  dewy  freshness  of  lips,  ripe  and  alluring,  and 
"looked  like  a  girl  you  could  chum  with"  as  one  of  her 
youthful  admirers  had  once  told  her,  as  she  gathered  the  boy 

in  her  arms. 

********** 

In  the  later  part  of  February  she  accepted  Elizabeth  Bar 
rett's  invitation  and  went  to  Paris  with  her  son  and  two 
maids.  Life  was  still  an  open  book  and  she  intended  to  read 
it.  With  the  ardor  of  her  nature  she  longed  for  excitement 
and  change,  and  reveled  in  the  attention  her  incontestable 
beauty  received. 

The  Barretts  were  waiting  at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare  and  soon 


80  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Eleanor  was  seated  in  front  of  the  fire-place  in  the  warm, 
bright  rooms  Elizabeth  Barrett  had  arranged  for  her,  drink 
ing  tea,  and  gossiping  of  mutual  friends. 

Although  she  did  not  wear  mourning  for  her  husband, 
Eleanor  dressed  very  quietly,  and  for  the  first  few  weeks 
after  arriving  in  Paris,  did  not  accept  any  social  invitations. 
But  she  was  pleasure-loving  and  did  not  want  to  dwell  on 
the  past,  and  much  to  Elizabeth  Barrett's  disapproval,  she 
accepted  Hugh  Crawford's  attentions  with  tolerant  amuse 
ment,  and  Anne's  husband,  conceited  and  impressionable, 
looked  forward  to  his  meetings  with  her  as  if  they  were 
epochs  in  his  life. 

"Why  so  silent?"  she  asked  him  one  day.  He  had  brought 
her  some  flowers,  and  a  toy  for  the  boy. 

"Because  I  am  too  happy  for  words  when  I  am  with  you," 
he  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "I  am  afraid  to  tell  you — " 

"You  are  getting  into  deep  water,"  laughed  Eleanor,  look 
ing  demurely  into  his  flushed  face.  "I  don't  understand  your 
kind  of  fear  and  happiness.  Now  Phil,  wrhen  he  is  afraid, 
comes  to  his  mother  for  protection,  and  when  he  is  happy, 
dances  and  jumps  and  yells  like  a  Comanche  Indian." 

Phil,  who  was  in  the  room,  hearing  his  name  mentioned, 
stared  in  wonder  at  the  big  man.  He  did  not  like  Crawford 
and  ran  to  his  mother,  slipping  his  hand  into  hers. 

"He  is  an  affectionate  little  fellow,"  Crawford  said. 

"Yes!    He  is  very  like  his  grandfather." 

But  Hugh  Crawford  was  not  interested  in  the  child  and 
muttering  to  himself  that  children  should  be  kept  in  the 
nursery,  walked  homeward,  having  obtained  Eleanor's  con 
sent  to  be  with  the  Barretts  at  the  dinner  he  had  ordered  at 
Voisins,  to  be  followed  by  Thais,  at  the  Grand  Opera. 

A  magnificent  car  rolled  up  ahead  of  him  when  he  walked 
along  the  street,  and  the  Marquise  Tania,  with  flattering  ve 
hemence,  insisted  on  taking  him  to  her  apartments.  He 
managed  to  excuse  himself  without  offending  her  and  with 


ELEANOR.  81 

a  promise  of  seeing  her  the  next  day,  kept  on  his  way;  but 
he  liked  the  Marquise  and  knew  that  she  allowed  him  many 
privileges  not  accorded  to  others,  and,  changing  his  mind, 
he  turned  his  steps  to  her  home. 

The  wonderful  rooms  in  the  aristocratic  quarter  of  the 
Rue  Cherche  Midi,  were  historic,  having  been  occupied  by 
a  Regent  of  France,  but  the  fact  was  forgotten,  although 
the  decorations  and  mouldings  were  still  as  elaborate  as 
ever.  Walking  through  the  fine  ante-chamber  and  Louis  XIV 
Salon,  Crawford  entered  a  room  he  had  never  before  noticed. 
The  whole  floor,  now  occupied  by  Tania,  seemed  to  be  full 
of  grand  chambers  and  mysterious  cabinets. 

When  he  pushed  aside  the  heavy  tapestries,  he  noticed 
that  this  room  contained  none  of  the  priceless  bric-a-brac, 
paintings,  or  bibelots,  such  as  decorated  the  other  rooms  he 
had  seen,  its  walls  were  covered  with  heavy  tapestries,  and 
it  was  furnished  with  almost  monastic  severity.  Men  and 
a  few  women,  many  of  them  Crawford  knew  to  be  Russians 
or  Poles  with  unpronounceable  names,  were  gathered  around 
an  Italian  who  was  singing  while  he  accompanied  himself 
with  a  guitar.  Dreamy  passion  ran  through  the  mad,  martial 
strain.  The  song  was  entrancing — weird;  combining  the 
sensuousness  of  love,  hope,  fear  and  hatred  with  an  under 
current  of  vehemence,  and  the  singer  completely  fascinated 
the  listeners  with  the  swaying  melody. 

Crawford,  who  had  met  no  difficulty  in  reaching  this  apart 
ment,  being  recognized  by  the  servants  as  one  of  Tania 's 
most  favored  friends,  stepped  quietly  into  the  room.  His 
entrance  passed  unheeded  and  his  own  blood  commenced  to 
riot  in  his  veins — some  unspoken  power  in  the  music  strangely 
moved  him. 

The  Marquise,  whose  face  seemed  illuminated  with  a  hid 
den  fire,  suddenly  spied  him  and  her  midnight  eyes  flared  in 
startled  amazement.  With  a  shrill  cry  she  came  toward  him. 
The  Italian  Marino  stopped  singing  and  with  a  nervous  laugh 


82  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

lifted  a  glass  from  a  low  table  beside  him  and  held  it  to  his 
trembling  lips,  swallowing  great  mouthfuls  of  wine  while 
the  company  separated  into  groups. 

"You  told  me  you  were  not  coming  but  you  are  most  wel 
come,  my  beau  Hugh,"  cried  Tania. 

Crawford's  eyes  winked  nervously  and  he  looked  at  her 
with  vague  uneasiness,  but  she  returned  his  glance  with  ap 
parent  innocent  pleasure  and  he  forgot  the  strange  fear  that 
had  assailed  him. 

It  was  almost  dawn  of  the  next  day  before  he  returned  to 
his  own  apartment,  his  head  heavy  from  drinking  too  much 
wine,  and  a  blurred  remembrance  of  having  lost  heavily  at 

cards. 

********** 

The  night  of  the  dinner,  Eleanoi^  was  a  picture,  perfect  in 
the  eyes  of  Hugh  Crawford.  She  wore  diamonds  in  her  dusky 
hair,  and  when  he  helped  her  remove  her  magnificent  ermine 
cloak,  he  saw  that  she  was  wearing  a  violet-hued  gown,  and 
the  mass  of  violets  he  had  sent  her  that  morning,  was  caught 
at  her  belt. 

Many  eyes  turned  toward  their  box  at  the  opera  and  glances 
of  admiration  were  directed  at  the  two  beautiful  women  and 
striking  looking  men. 

"///  were  free." 

For  the  first  time  the  subtle,  horrid  thought  entered  Craw 
ford's  brain.  Here  was  the  woman  he  should  have  met  and 
married,  instead  of  tying  himself  to  a  tiresome,  sombre  crea 
ture  like  Anne. 

He  placed  his  chair  immediately  behind  Eleanor's  and 
watched  her,  absolutely  oblivious  of  the  beautiful  Prima 
Donna  who  was  charming  the  crowded  house  with  the  beauty 
of  her  voice  and  physical  loveliness. 

Eleanor  impulsively  leaned  back  to  him  and  whispered,  "I 
love  Garden." 

Crawford  did  not  answer,  but  smiled  as  he  watched  the 


ELEANOR.  83 

beautiful  face,  now  pale  as  snow  from  emotion.  Somehow 
this  display  of  temperament  displeased  him.  When  he  left 
his  friends  after  the  opera  he  was  very  serious.  As  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  the  evening  had  been  unsatisfactory,  and 
when  he  entered  his  apartment,  he  ordered  Saunders  to  bring 
brandy  and  soda.  Lighting  a  cigar  he  lolled  back  on  his 
couch,  lazily  thinking, 

"I  believe  I  have  found  the  woman  who  would  not  bore 
me.  Sonia  will  always  be  out  of  my  reach  and  no  other 
woman  is  quite  as  glorious  as  she,  but  Eleanor  is  beautiful, 
young  and  gay.  She  cannot  imagine  I  think  of  her  wealth, 
and  I  will  love  her — make  her  love  me. ' ' 

He  dreamed  of  kissing  and  caressing  the  new  woman  of  his 
desires,  till  happening  to  look  up  at  the  clock,  he  noticed  the 
lateness  of  the  hour.  Yawning,  he  undressed  slowly  and  soon 
was  sound  asleep. 

He  had  entirely  forgotten  Anne.  He  did  not  remember 
the  wife  waiting  for  him  in  England. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Broken  Promises. 


85 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BROKEN  PROMISES. 

Anne  spent  feverish  weeks  in  London,  trying  to  hide  her 
desolation  from  her  relatives  and  shrinking  from  the  thought 
of  sympathy  which  she  feared  might  be  offered.  Rumors 
reached  her  of  Crawfo'rd's  wildness,  of  his  mad  extravagances, 
and  of  his  infatuation  for  her  friend  Eleanor  Hardeen,  and 
it  required  a  veritable  passion  and  the  most  patient  self- 
control,  to  listen  without  flinching  to  the  undercurrent  of 
acidity  in  Lady  Ridgway's  opinion  of  her  new  nephew.  But 
although  Crawford  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  existence  and 
did  not  acknowledge  her  letters,  the  power  of  Anne 's  love  car 
ried  everything  before  it,  casting  aside  warnings  and  filling 
her  heart  with  hopes  for  the  future. 

At  last  his  silence  alarmed  her  and  she  feared  she  had 
made  a  grave  mistake  in  leaving  him.  Did  he  resent  her 
absence  1  After  secret  tears  and  much  hesitation  she  decided  to 
return  to  him,  and  believing  things  would  arrange  themselves 
better  when  she  was  again  with  her  husband,  she  made  Dora 's 
head  swim  with  her  eagerness  to  return  to  Paris. 

Dora,  faithful,  sensible  soul,  did  not  understand  the  chang 
ing  moods,  but  silently  obeyed  instructions  while  she  watched 
with  loving,  observant  eyes  and  prayed  that  happier  days  were 
coming  for  her  beloved  "Miss  Anne." 

The  Channel  was  very  rough  and  the  journey  fatiguing, 
and  Anne  sat  almost  motionless  until  they  reached  Paris,  but 
when  she  entered  her  beautiful  apartment  she  felt  a  faint 
pleasure  when  she  surveyed  the  attractive  rooms.  Everything 
seemed  home-like,  and  the  air  of  warmth  and  comfort  were 
very  encouraging. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  and  she  was  not  surprised  that  Crawford 

87 


88  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

was  not  at  home.  She  went  into  his  room  and  saw  intimate 
signs  of  his  occupation — his  brushes — a  framed  picture  of 
herself  on  his  dressing  table — his  canopied  bed,  half  open  and 
ready  for  him — even  his  dressing  gown  and  slippers  looked 
dear  and  familiar,  and  she  felt  tremulous  and  happy. 

"Everything  is  going  to  be  all  right  now,"  she  murmured, 
as  vague  possibilities  filled  her  soul  with  comfort  and  she 
turned  to  her  own  rooms.  Dora  brought  her  some  soup  and 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  feeling  refreshed,  she  bathed  and  had 
Dora  dress  her  in  a  primrose  silk  teagown  Crawford  had  once 
admired,  and  lay  down  on  her  couch  to  wait  for  him. 

' ;  You  may  as  well  go  to  bed,  Dora,  and  tell  Saunders  to  in 
form  Mr.  Crawford  I  am  here  and  would  like  to  see  him  as 
soon  as  he  comes  home." 

Dora  smiled  radiantly  and  with  a  soft  "good-night,  Miss 
Anne,"  went  in  search  of  Saunders. 

Until  her  marriage  Anne  had  belonged  to  a  world  of  relig 
ious  atmosphere  and  puritan  refinements.  Consideration  and 
respect  for  women  had  been  a  dominant  feature  of  daily  life 
around  her,  but  marriage  to  Crawford  had  taught  her  that 
sex  made  no  difference,  and  her  wishes  were  not  to  be  con 
sidered  if  they  conflicted  with  his  desires;  but  he  had  never 
revealed  the  venom  of  his  uncontrolled  temper. 

She  could  not  read,  and  listened  to  the  clock  ticking  away 
the  hours  of  life.  Laying  aside  the  book  in  her  hand,  she 
looked  up  at  the  silk-draped  walls  and  placidly  congratulated 
herself  on  her  good  sense  in  returning — and  yawned.  It  was 
after  three  in  the  morning  when  she  heard  her  husband 
coming  to  her. 

Crawford  was  astounded  and  annoyed  to  know  of  her  ar 
rival,  and  the  imperative  order  to  go  to  her  at  once,  which 
Saunders  repeated  with  unnecessary  force,  did  not  soften  his 
anger.  Flushed  and  frowsy  from  drinking,  his  hand  still  hold 
ing  a  lighted  cigar,  he  went  to  Anne.  He  had  never  looked  so 


BROKEN  PROMISES.  89 

plebeian — so  vulgar;  his  hair  mussed  and  his  coat  awry,  while 
he  grinned  foolishly,  trying  to  cover  his  vexation. 

Anne  raised  herself  and  held  out  her  arras,  color  coming 
into  her  face  and  her  gorgeous  Spanish  eyes  warm  with 
affection;  but  her  husband  did  not  attempt  to  go  near  her 
and  sank  heavily  into  a  deep  chair.  His  face  grew  sullen. 

"Well,"  he  sneered,  "so  you're  back  again.  "The  cat  came 
back.'  " 

"Didn't  you  expect  me  to  come  home?"  she  flashed  angrily. 
"Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

He  leaned  confidentially  toward  her,  the  fumes  from  his 
breath  disgusted  her,  and  half-drunken  rage  roughened  his 
voice. 

"I'm  a  damned  fool  to  speak  the  truth  but  when  the  wine 
is  in  the  wit  is  out,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I  think. 
Glad!  Glad!"  He  breathed  heavily,  trying  to  conquer  the 
brutal  rage  that  possessed  him.  "No,  my  wife,  I'm  not  glad. 
I  wish  I  had  never  seen  you. ' ' 

Befuddled  as  was  his  brain,  he  regretted  his  words  as 
soon  as  they  left  his  lips.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  plunged 
out  of  the  room,  having  the  good  sense  not  to  try  to  excuse 
himself.  But  not  until  the  next  day  did  he  realize  the  full 
cruelty  of  his  behavior  and  then  he  remorsefully  assured 
himself  that  he  would  be  a  man,  and  drop  Tania  and  her 
friends  and  forget  Eleanor — everyone,  and  go  away  from 
Paris.  He  would  take  up  the  study  of  his  profession  again 
and  try  to  do  something  worth  while.  Of  course  Anne  would 
forgive  him,  although  he  had  acted  like  a  cad,  and  they 
would  start  all  over  again. 

His  head  ached,  his  eyes  burned,  but  he  looked  splendidly 
attractive  in  his  repentant  mood  and  went  to  Anne,  utterly 
humbled — and  asked  her  pardon. 

She  gave  him  from  the  abundance  of  affection  long  re 
pressed.  It  was  happiness  enough  that  he  had  come  to  her, 
asked  her  forgiveness  and  told  her  that  he  loved  her;  so  all 


90  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

the  humiliation  and  all  the  misery  were  forgotten  now  that 
her  husband — her  Hugh,  had  promised  to  be  all  her  heart 
desired. 

He  allowed  her  to  bathe  his  aching  head,  lay  bandages  on 
his  pulsing  eyes  and  darken  the  room  so  that  he  might  sleep. 
When  he  awakened  he  found  her  sitting  beside  him.  In 
the  dim  light  she  looked  beautiful.  Her  face  and  dark  eyes 
were  radiant  and  the  soft,  lacy  gown  hung  gracefully  around 
her  young  figure.  He  held  out  his  hand  and  drew  his  wife 
to  him  and  kissed  her  red  lips. 


Harmony  re-established  and  ambition  revived,  they  again 
planned  eagerly  for  their  future.  They  would  return  to  the 
"States"  and  Crawford  would  "hang  out  his  shingle."  But 
it  could  not  be  for  a  year  or  two.  He  wanted  to  study  seri 
ously  in  Europe  before  settling  down  to  work. 

As  he  talked,  Crawford's  belief  in  himself  expanded,  and 
lie  w<as  convinced  that  a  sudden  and  tremendous  change  had 
taken  place  in  his  character. 

So  Anne's  troubles  disappeared  for  awhile  and  Crawford's 
cronies  missed  him. 

"Madame  Crawford  has  returned,"  explained  Tania  when 
questioned  regarding  her  American.  "It  will  not  interfere 
with  his  usefulness,"  and  she  laughed  cruelly.  "We  shall 
soon  see  him  and  it  is  best  I  do  not  seek  him.  I  am  afraid 
the  good  Hugh  will  not  find  his  wife  very  amusing." 

And  for  a  while  the  Hugh  Crawfords  motored  and  dined, 
went  to  a  few  houses,  seemingly  very  devoted  to  each  other, 
but  gradually  the  young  husband  commenced  to  find  the  role 
of  mari  fidele  extremely  monotonous,  although  he  and  Anne 
were  firmly  entrenched  among  the  ultra  smart  (and  ultra 
gay)  set  from  the  beginning  of  their  marriage.  Anne's  for 
tune  was  greater  than  her  husband's  (her  attorneys  had  ar 
ranged  that  it  should  not  pass  out  of  her  own  control)  and 


BROKEN  PROMISES.  91 

their  combined  wealth  made  them  among  the  richest  Ameri 
cans  in  Paris. 

Crawford  loved  the  European  extravagance  and  Anne  de 
veloped  a  new  sprightliness  and  enjoyment  of  luxury  and 
beauty  which  the  strict  Presbyterian  household  in  La  Conner 
did  not  know  of. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Hugh  Crawford 
again  threw  himself  into  the  wildest  gayeties  and  that  Anne 
again  became  jealous  and  discontented. 

"Hugh,  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  staggered  him  one  day 
by  exclaiming.  "I  don't  want  to  live  here.  I  hate  it — I'm 
homesick. ' ' 

''You  want  to  see  your  aunt,  do  you,  Anne?  Well,  I  won't 
interfere  with  you,  dear.  7  couldn't  go  now;  but  there  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  wait  for  me." 

' '  Oh,  Hugh,  I  '11  try  to  be  patient, ' '  she  vowed,  ' '  I  wouldn  't 
think  of  going  without  you." 

That  night  they  went  to  an  entertainment  on  the  old  side 
of  the  Seine.  As  they  rode  through  the  historical  streets, 
Hugh  Crawford  drooped  moodily  in  a  corner  of  the  car. 
He  remorsefully  acknowledged  that  Anne  wearied  him  and 
when  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his  and  crept  closer,  he 
shuddered  and  wished  she  was  not  so  constantly  affectionate. 

They  were  among  the  earlier  arrivals  and  Anne,  sitting 
quietly  in  a  corner  chatting  with  an  elderly  Englishman, 
watched  her  husband's  full,  treacherous  eyes,  seeking  for 
some  one. 

In  spite  of  his  promises  and  apparent  devotion,  Anne  feared 
he  would  not  be  able  to  combat  the  temptations  of  Paris 
life,  and  she  tortured  herself  with  suspicions.  Gossip  had 
reached  her  that  he  again  sought  the  society  of  the  people  he 
had  promised  to  drop,  that  he  had  devoted  himself  to  Madame 
Ramoniff  when  she  passed  through  Paris,  and  again  made 
himself  conspicuous  by  attentions  to  Eleanor  Hardeen,  but 
she  tried  to  ignore  the  scandal  and  to  believe  there  was  no 


92  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

truth  in  the  small  talk.  She  adored  him  at  that  time  and 
understood  why  other  women  found  him  attractive;  but  her 
hands  clenched  when  she  saw  his  face  brighten  as  his  atten 
tion  strayed  toward  the  entrance  of  the  room  and  Eleanor — 
gracious,  smiling  and  perfectly  dressed — entered.  Exquisite 
lines  appeared  in  every  movement — she  was  more  than  usually 
radiant,  and  Anne  reluctantly  confessed  to  herself  that  she 
had  never  seen  a  lovelier  woman. 

The  laughing  young  widow  was  immediately  surrounded, 
and  Anne  was  shocked  at  the-  sullen  displeasure  that  showed 
in  the  usually  inscrutable  face  of  her  husband  while  he  watched 
the  merry  party  at  the  door,  then  new  comers  appeared, 
and  Eleanor  moved  out  of  the  focus  of  the  wife's  jealous 
eyes. 

A  voice  from  behind  reached  her  as  she  sat  with  her  silent 
acquaintance  in  the  sheltered  nook : 

"Handsome  fellow,  Crawford!" 

Anne  listened  breathlessly  for  the  answer  which  came 
immediately. 

"Yes,  he  is!    His  wife  is  here  to-night — quiet  little  thing." 

"Is  she?     I  know  her  cousins — fine,  high-spirited  girls." 

"The  little  Crawford  is  different.  She's  among  the  has- 
beens — her  husband  does  all  the  high-spirited  stuff.  I  saw 
her  this  evening — he's  been  ragging  her  again." 

' '  How  can  you  tell  ? ' ' 

"By  her  eyes.  They  look  pitiful.  He's  doing  all  he  can 
to  break  her  heart  and  she's  silly  about  him — but  it's  their 
affair." 

Anne,  with  shame  stronger  than  pride,  looked  into  the 
face  of  the  man  beside  her.  Neither  spoke,  but  the  English 
man  wished  himself  miles  away. 

Her  heart  swelled  with  rage  and  grief  and  she  uncere 
moniously  left  the  crowded  house  and  returned  to  her  own 
home.  A  hastily  written  line  to  her  hostess  mentioned  sud 
den  illness,  with  a  request  that  Crawford  was  not  to  be  in- 


BROKEN  PROMISES.  93 

formed  of  her  indisposition,  and  she  knew  her  husband  would 
not  miss  her  unless  her  absence  was  brought  to  his  notice. 

When  she  slowly  entered  their  apartment  she  uttered  an 
ejaculation,  for  Fifi,  with  her  ears  laid  deprecatingly  against 
her  head,  was  at  her  heels. 

' '  We  're  going  away,  beastie, ' '  she  murmured  and  again  told 
Dora  that  she  wished  to  see  Crawford  when  he  came  home. 

He  was  prepared  for  the  storm  which  greeted  him  and,  com 
paring  his  pale,  infuriated  wife  with  the  woman  he  had 
in  his  thoughts,  he  wondered  how  he  ever  imagined  he  could 
live  with  her.  Better — far  better,  that  they  understand  each 
other.  He  would  not  be  tied  to  her.  Her  jealousy  destroyed 
every  possible  chance  for  even  friendly  comfort.  A  demon 
seemed  to  take  possession  of  him  and  he  cruelly,  deliberately 
determined  to  assert  his  independence. 

In  the  excitement  and  confusion  of  the  moment,  Anne's 
emotions  surged  through  her  brain  and  when  Crawford 
entered  her  room,  the  sight  of  him  sent  her  jealous  fury  to 
raging.  This  was  the  man  who  had  lured  her  away  fronj 
home  with  the  promises  of  love  and  happiness.  Her  eyes 
blazed  when  she  looked  at  him  and  she  shocked  herself  by  the 
burst  of  recrimination  that  came  from  her  lips. 

"And  I  have  heard  of  other  madnesses,"  she  finished.  "Of 
your  devotion  to  Madame  Ramoniff — of  you  making  yourself 
the  ridicule  of  friends  by  running  after  Eleanor  Hardeen — 
the  woman  who  laughs  at  you. ' ' 

"Just  listen  to  me  for  a  minute,"  Crawford  interrupted. 
' '  Whatever  you  have  heard  is  true,  but  you  needn  't  trouble  to 
enumerate  my  sins.  I  was  uncommonly  happy  while  you  were 
away  and  I've  had  to  sneak  ever  since  you  came  back,  but 
you're  not  going  to  interfere  with  me  or  my  way  of  enjoy 
ing  myself  in  the  future.  You  can  go  to  hell  for  all  I  care," 
and  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room. 

For  hours,  until  daylight  appeared  and  the  sun  rose,  Anne 
Crawford  sat  like  a  graven  image,  thinking — planning  in  un- 


94  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

happy  silence.  She  forced  herself  to  be  cairn — controlled  the 
reckless  desire  to  scream  and  destroy  objects  around  her.  She 
did  not  know  the  passing  of  the  hours  until  Dora,  bringing 
her  breakfast,  knocked  at  the  door. 

The  woman  stared  wonderingly  at  the  electric  lights  still 
burning,  and  setting  down  the  tray,  went  to  Anne  and 
anxiously  peered  into  the  mask-like  face. 

"There,  there,  dearie,"  she  crooned,  pressing  Anne  back 
among  the  pillows.  "Try  to  drink  a  little  hot  coffee." 

"No,  Dora.    I  cannot." 

Suddenly  her  features  quivered  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  Dora,  inexpressibly  touched  by  her  mistress' 
grief,  dropped  at  Anne's  side  and  gathered  her  in  her  arms. 
Difference  of  caste  did  not  exist — they  were  two  gentle,  lov 
ing  women.  Dora  gazed  through  her  tears  into  the  beloved 
face  of  her  adored  "Miss  Anne." 

"Try  to  cry,  dear.  Cry  away  your  sorrow,  then  forget  it. 
Think  of  all  the  people  who  love  you — think  of  your  auntie. ' ' 

Gradually  tranquility  came  and  Anne  brought  herself  down 
fo  the  point  where  she  could  determine  which  was  the  wisest 
course  to  follow.  The  absurdity  of  trying  to  live  with  her 
husband  penetrated  her  agitated  brain,  and  she  was  astonished 
at  the  thoughts  that  trooped  into  her  mind,  and  the  calmness 
with  which  she  thought  of  a  new  and  separate  life.  At  last 
she  acknowledged  to  herself  how  wise  her  aunt  Hamilton  had 
been  in  trying  to  dissuade  her  from  marrying  Crawford.  She 
knew  that  she  had  made  a  fatal  mistake  when  she  came  to 
him,  and  hot  tears  of  mortification  coursed  down  her  cheeks 
while  irritating  self-condemnation  troubled  her. 

She  did  not  place  all  the  blame  on  her  husband. 

"I  am  too  soft.  That's  been  my  great  weakness.  I  did  not 
seem  to  have  any  will  of  my  own  when  he  was  near.  No  won 
der  he  had  no  respect  for  me  and  took  advantage  of  my  affec 
tion.  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  been  so  foolish.  There's 
nothing  to  him — no  stability — no  honor." 


BROKEN  PROMISES.  95 

She  determined  to  go  to  America,  and  with  genuine  pleas 
ure  thought  of  returning  to  her  own  country,  and  rang  for 
Dora. 

"Oh,  Miss  Anne,  if  you  would  go  for  a  ride  it  would  do 
you  good.  It  is  beautiful  in  the  sunlight  and — " 

"It  is  more  beautiful  at  home,  Dora.  Would  you  be  glad 
to  go  back?" 

A  thanksgiving  song  was  in  Dora's  heart. 

"Yes!  Indeed  I  would  be  glad — but — is  Mr.  Hugh  think 
ing  of  going  1 ' ' 

"You  and  I  are  going  as  we  came — alone." 

The  firm  resolve  on  Anne's  face  was  so  like  Donald  Hamil 
ton's  stern  expression  that  Dora  shuddered.  She  made  a  pre 
tence  of  arranging  things  around  the  room  and  watched  Anne 
with  anxious  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  I  am  here  to  take  care  of  her,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  ' '  She  certainly  does  need  me. ' ' 

Now  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave  her  husband, 
Anne  was  tremendously  excited.  She  threw  aside  her  indol 
ence  and  superintended  packing,  and  made  arrangements  for 
the  voyage  home.  She  made  a  pretence  of  concealment,  but 
it  was  not  necessary,  for  no  one,  least  of  all  her  European 
servants,  believed  that  she  would  really  openly  rebel  against 
her  husband 's  neglect  and  show  her  independence ;  and  neither 
did  Crawford  dream  she  would  take  the  initiative  and  humili 
ate  him  by  leaving  him. 

She  breathed  freer  now  that  her  resolution  was  made  and 
had  not  felt  so  buoyant  since  the  first  few  days  of  her  mar 
riage;  but  when  night  came,  she  suffered  a  terrible  revulsion 
of  feeling.  She  would  not — could  not  leave  Hugh  to  others. 
She  was  his  wife — she  would  not  please  him  by  leaving  him. 
Nervous  and  ill,  she  again  fought  with  herself.  "It  is  my  only 
chance  of  happiness,"  she  cried.  " He  may  miss  me.  He  may 
remember.  He  may  find  out  that  he  does  love  me." 

She  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Lady  Ridgway,  promising  news 


96  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

from  America  and  sent  a  few  notes  to  friends  before  she  took 
a  farewell  of  the  little  home  her  husband  had  brought  her  to, 
and  she  was  almost  blinded  with  tears  when  she  and  Dora, 
followed  by  Fifi,  left  the  apartment  in  the  aristocratic  street. 
But  hope  was  not  quite  dead  in  Anne's  heart  and  she  be 
lieved  there  was  happiness  to  be  found  in  America.  Craw 
ford  was  her  husband.  He  would  be  sorry  and  follow  her. 

Once  on  board  the  steamer  she  bore  herself  proudly,  but 
the  big  eyes  that  looked  out  from  under  the  masses  of  black 
hair  were  very  wistful  in  their  sad  brooding,  and  the  thin 
face  grew  longer  and  paler. 

When  the  voyage  was  over  and  the  vessel  began  to  turn  to 
her  dock,  Anne  eagerly  scanned  the  open  arch  where  hun 
dreds  of  heads  were  massed  together  like  the  hundred  priests 
on  Chinese  dishes.  She  knew  that  none  of  her  friends  were 
aware  of  her  coming  unless  Hugh  had  cabled  for  some  one 
to  meet  her. 

One  man  in  advance  of  all  was  waving  a  handkerchief 
which  he  had  tied  to  his  cane. 

'  "That's  brother  Will!"  exclaimed  a  lady  passenger,  wav 
ing  a  response;  but  no  one  was  waiting  for  Anne. 

With  wheezes  and  creaks,  the  huge  vessel  was  fastened  to 
the  wharf  amid  a  terrific  riot  of  noise,  then  the  passengers 
crowded  down  the  gangway  and  struggled  to  stations  under 
their  initials,  to  declare  themselves  to  Uncle  Sam  before  pass 
ing  into  the  chaos  of  the  New  World. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
Man's  Inhumanity. 


97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MAN'S  INHUMANITY. 

Again  on  her  native  land,  Anne  Crawford  experienced  a 
kind  of  joy  running  through  her.  Even  the  speech  and  ac 
cent  of  her  own  people  were  music  to  her  ears  and  she  felt  as 
if  she  had  freed  herself  from  restraining  bonds. 

As  yet,  no  one  in  America  knew  of  her  rupture  with  her 
husband  and,  though  her  conscience  did  not  trouble  her  for 
leaving  him,  she  felt  the  painful  failure  of  her  hopes.  Dread 
ing  curious  questions,  she  did  not  communicate  with  the  Deaks 
and  it  puzzled  her  to  know  what  was  the  best  thing  for  her 
to  do. 

It  again  was  September  and  New  York  was  as  warm  and 
sultry  as  it  had  been  the  year  before  when  she  had  sailed  for 
London,  and  nothing  seemed  changed  but  herself. 

She  conferred  with  Dora,  scorning  social  differences,  and 
listened  to  the  advice  of  that  discreet  and  loyal  friend  with 
unusual  meekness. 

"You  have  never  been  in  Washington,  Miss  Anne,"  Dora 
suggested.  "You  always  wanted  to  go  there." 

"That's  a  good  suggestion.    Yes,  we  will  go  there." 

So  after  a  restless  night  in  the  loneliness  of  a  palatial  hotel, 
Anne  left  for  Washington. 

She  was  not  deceitful  and  realized  that  she  could  not  re 
turn  to  La  Conner  without  explaining  the  absence  of  her  hus 
band  and  felt  that  she  could  not  bear  the  criticism  of  old 
friends  in  the  narrow-visioned,  conventional  little  town  where 
separation  and  divorce  were  frowned  upon,  and  the  sunder 
ing  of  marriage  relations  was  against  all  religious  teachings. 

If  Anne  Crawford's  marriage  had  been  happy,  she  would 
have  resented  any  non-observance  of  domestic  routine  as  ve- 

99 


100  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

hemently  as  did  her  religious  friends  who  lived  stern  and 
zealous  lives  of  piety,  but  experience  had  broadened  her  views. 

She  did  not  imagine  that  she  would  spend  years  of  her  life 
in  Washington,  but  she  intended  to  remain  over  the  winter 
and  established  herself  there,  and  after  looking  at  sumptuous 
apartments  and  pretentious  hotels,  finally  rented  a  house  in 
the  Capitol. 

The  little  dwelling,  small  for  the  fashionable  neighborhood, 
had  not  a  fault  to  mar  its  beauty.  It  was  charmingly  fur 
nished  and  had  large,  comfortable  rooms,  rich  but  unostenta 
tious,  and  Anne  found  it  a  delightful  change  from  the  opu 
lent  grandeur  of  Paris. 

In  her  delicate  boudoir  with  its  walls  entirely  covered  with 
French-gray  tapestry  and  the  ceilings  formed  of  dainty 
frescoes  of  birds  and  flowering  vines,  she  surrounded  herself 
with  her  personal  trifles  and  straightway  commenced  to  dream 
of  Crawford's  surprise  when  he  came  for  her  and  found  her 
installed  so  comfortably.  Downstairs,  the  open  hall,  carpeted 
with  lovely  fane  antique  rugs,  led  to  a  splendid  salon  and 
smaller  rooms,  and  altogether  the  little  house,  gay  and  not  too 
new,  was  ideal  in  its  way. 

After  all,  Anne  was  only  a  young  unsophisticated  creature 
and,  although  she  had  suffered  keen  anguish  and  passed 
through  a  stormy  year,  the  look  of  suffering  left  her  eyes  and 
she  regained  her  good  spirits.  She  believed  Crawford  would 
come  to  her  in  spite  of  his  apparent  disregard  of  her  exist 
ence. 

Nothing  is  harder  than  for  youth  to  dwell  on  past  sorrows, 

and  again  she  was  ready  to  forget  and  forgive. 

**'******** 

After  the  first  shock  to  his  self-esteem  was  over,  Hugh  Craw 
ford  congratulated  himself  that  Anne  had  returned  to  Amer 
ica,  and  was  heartily  and  unaffectedly  glad  that  the  Atlantic 
rolled  between  him  and  her  constant  endearments. 

"If  she  wasn't  such  a  Puritan  I'd  apply  for  a  divorce,  but 


MAN'S  INHUMANITY.  101 

she'd  raise  a  row  and  drag  all  our  domestic  squabbles  be 
fore  the  public,  rather  than  permit  it.  I  have  a  right  to  it. 
The  law  is  on  my  side.  She  deserted  me." 

He  checked  his  mutterings  when  Saunders  entered  the  room, 
but  in  his  heart  Hugh  Crawford  was  thinking  of  Eleanor,  and 
he  promised  himself  that  he  would  be  free.  All  the  laws  in 
the  world  could  not  bind  him  to  a  wife  he  did  not  want. 

At  a  dinner  party  the  week  following,  he  found  that  his  ob 
serving  hostess  had  placed  him  next  to  Eleanor.  She  looked 
more  desirable  than  ever,  and  a  seductive  suggestion  of  a 
sprite  fresh  from  the  dew,  danced  before  his  eyes.  His  brain 
teemed  with  unwise  thoughts,  and  before  her  friendly  smile 
he  felt  guilty. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Anne?"  she  asked.  "I  suppose  I 
will  see  her  soon,  for  I  'm  going  home  in  a  few  weeks.  Father 
thinks  I  have  been  crazy  to  remain  in  Paris  during  the  sum 
mer — even  with  week-end  excursions  to  the  sea — and  he  wants 
to  see  Phil." 

A  sudden  resolve  entered  Crawford's  mind. 

''Perhaps  I  can  arrange  to  cross  when  you  do.  Would  you 
be  glad?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  That  would  be  delightful.  It  would  be  nice 
if  we  could  make  up  a  party,"  Eleanor  answered  animatedly, 
then  her  voice  dropped  to  a  confidential  whisper.  "I  am  go 
ing  to  tell  you  a  secret.  Anne  must  have  told  you  of  my  aunt 
Ellen — well,  she  is  going  to  be  married.  She  doesn't  know  it 
—but  she  is. ' '  She  leaned  closer  to  Crawford.  ' '  Aunt  Ellen 
has  been  engaged  to  the  most  patient  man  in  the  world  for 
twenty  years.  He  is  going  to  meet  us  in  Chicago  and  bring 
his  favorite  horses  with  him,  and  aunt  Ellen  is  afraid  of 
horses."  She  laughed  with  infectious  mirth,  showing  all  her 
white  teeth,  even  and  pointed.  "I  am  going  to  manage  aunt 
Ellen.  She  has  managed  our  family  for  years  and  I'm  going 
to  get  even." 

"What  a  lovely,  joyous  creature  she  is,"  Crawford  was 


102  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

thinking  while  he  listened.  "She's  as  vivacious  as  Sonia — 
and  there  is  always  danger  surrounding  a  married  woman. 
Eleanor  is  quite  unlike  any  other  girl  I  ever  knew. ' ' 

They  chatted  softly  and  Eleanor  did  not  notice  the  fervor 
in  his  voice  nor  did  she  know  that  his  composure  wavered 
before  her  candid  eyes. 

So  with  a  new  hope  in  his  heart,  a  fresh  desire  before  his 
imagination,  and  urged  by  selfish  longings,  Crawford  pre 
pared  to  go  to  Washington.  He  cabled  Anne  of  his  intended 
departure  from  France. 

A  rich  woman,  young  and  with  the  prestige  of  a  good  fam 
ily  behind  her  can  always  find  pleasures  awaiting  her,  and 
society  will  not  interfere  with  her  pursuits  so  long  as  it  is 
not  defied,  and  Anne,  with  surprising  skill  and  tact,  sur 
rounded  herself  with  powerful  and  congenial  friends. 

She  went  through  the  necessary  routine  of  calling  and  mak 
ing  calls  and  attended  dinners  and  entertainments,  but  she 
was  patiently  waiting  for  Crawford,  and  although  almost 
overjoyed,  she  was  not  surprised  when  his  cable  came  to 
her.  He  was  coming  for  her. 

His  neglect  had  not  robbed  her  of  her  youthful  confidence 
and  she  again  thought  of  him  with  love-dazzled  hopes  and 
breathlessly  thanked  God  for  her  happiness.  She  even  found 
excuses  for  his  flirtations  and  blamed  herself  for  not  enter 
ing  into  his  life.  She  felt  that  she  had  treated  him  with 
contemptuous  patience  instead  of  trying  to  please  him,  as  she 
should  have  done.  It  was  all  her  fault,  but  things  would  be 
different  in  the  future.  She  felt  a  superb  confidence  that 
when  they  were  reunited  she  would  know  how  to  handle  the 
intricacies  of  life  and  there  would  be  no  more  shadows  be 
tween  them. 

With  the  hope  of  looking  attractive  in  his  eyes,  she  spent 
hours  trying  to  decide  what  she  would  wear  when  he  came 
to  her,  and  after  great  anxiety,  selected  a  simple  black  velvet 
gown. 


MAN'S  INHUMANITY.  103 

Dora  suggested  white. 

"You  have  never  worn  a  white  dress  since  you  were  mar 
ried,  Miss  Anne."  It  would  always  be  "Miss  Anne"  to  Dora. 

' '  I  prefer  black, ' '  Anne  answered  sharply  and  Dora  looked 
with  consternation  at  her  mistress'  disturbed  face. 

The  woman's  remark  had  brought  a  sudden  remembrance 
that  she  had  worn  a  white  gown  when  she  arrayed  herself  to 
meet  Crawford  in  London  before  they  were  married,  and 
Anne  turned  pale  to  the  lips. 

After  Crawford  arrived  in  New  York  he  sent  a  telegram, 
mentioning  the  hour  to  expect  him,  but  when  he  reached  Wash 
ington  he  sought  his  friend  and  attorney  and  had  a  lengthy 
interview  in  the  lawyer's  private  office  regarding  his  inten 
tion  of  obtaining  a  divorce,  before  going  to  his  hotel. 

When  he  reached  Anne's  little  house  it  was  dinner  time. 
He  was  in  conventional  evening  clothes  and  looked  careless 
and  elegant,  although  he  inwardly  was  nervous  and  prepared 
for  a  scene.  He  knew  it  would  be  disagreeable,  but  he  was 
determined  to  have  a  definite  understanding  with  her.  Of 
course  she  would  flare  up  and  defy  him — there  would  be  one 
of  their  old  time  clashes  of  will,  but  he  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  shirking.  His  mind  was  decided.  He  was  going  to 
be  happy  in  spite  of  her. 

When  he  entered  the  brilliantly  lighted  room  his  eyes 
blinked  nervously  and  for  a  moment  he  was  blinded,  but  his 
expression  did  not  change  and  he  looked  blandly  kind  and 
pleasant.  But  he  drew  himself  away  and  did  not  try  to 
caress  Anne  when  she  flung  herself  into  his  arms. 

In  an  instant  her  pride  was  aroused.  A  terrible  reaction 
of  feeling  swept  over  her  making  her  tremble,  and  she  tottered 
away  from  him.  She  had  not  dreamed  that  he  would  be  in 
this  mood  and  the  cold  repulse,  after  their  separation,  filled 
her  heart  with  mysterious  fear. 

He  still  appealed  to  her  and  she  could  not  help  looking 


104  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

admiringly  at  the  handsome  animal  who  was  her  husband. 

A  thought  of  their  betrothal  in  the  old  home  in  La  Conner 
— of  her  aunt's  instinctive  dislike  for  him — passed  like  a  heart 
breaking  vision  over  her,  leaving  a  fearful  dread  in  its  wake. 
She  grew  paler  and  the  evanescent  beauty  of  her  happiness 
seemed  to  have  been  blasted  from  her. 

"Have  you  been  ill,"  Crawford  asked,  "or  is  it  the  black 
gown?  You  are  looking  wretched." 

"No — I  am  well!  I  am  always  well."  She  drew  herself 
to  the  mantle,  stretching  her  slim  arm  up  to  the  shelf  of  the 
fireplace  and  trying  to  calm  her  fears.  She  stoutly  tried  to 
smile  and  added  humbly,  "I  am  very  glad  that  you  came  for 
me,  Hugh." 

Crawford  felt  a  momentary  discomfiture  when  he  looked 
into  her  white  face,  and  in  spite  of  his  resolutions,  felt 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"I  will  ring  for  dinner,"  Anne  exclaimed,  wildly  trying  to 
speak  naturally.  "You  must  be  famished." 

"  No !  Please  do  not  ring.  I  have  little  time  and  must  say 
what  is  necessary  at  once.  I  won't  detain  you  long.  You  can 
dine  after  I  have  gone." 

Anne's  heart  seemed  to  die  within  her,  the  walls  appeared 
to  crumble  toward  her,  but  she  stood  motionless,  listening  to 
her  husband's  cruel,  musical  voice. 

"We  have  not  been  happy  together,  Anne.  I  am  sorry  to 
speak  so  plainly — so  bluntly,  but  it  is  better  than  writing  un 
pleasant  truths,  and  I  want  you  to  apply  for  a  divorce." 

Anne's  skin  turned  yellow  and  her  eyes  blackened.  She 
looked  like  a  dark  fury  and  could  not  speak. 

"I  am  deeply  humiliated  that  you  think  so  badly  of  me 
as  your  desertion — and  present  appearance — would  indicate," 
Crawford  went  on.  "Of  course  if  you  need  me  at  any  time, 
I  always  will  be  glad  to  be  of  service  to  you.  There  is  no  rea 
son  why  we  should  be  enemies.  I  will  never  forget  what  you 


MAN'S  INHUMANITY.  105 

oiice  were  to  me  and  no  great  harm  has  been  done.  You  are 
young  and  wealthy  and  no  doubt  will  make  a  brilliant  second 
marriage. ' ' 

He  waited  for  her  reply  and  was  not  quite  satisfied  with 
the  progress  he  was  making. 

"You  must  know  that  I  am  entirely  justified,"  he  added. 
"Utherwise  I  would  not  ask  for  my  freedom — would  not  de 
sire  it." 

Anne  gained  control  of  herself,  started  to  speak,  then 
thought  it  better  to  be  silent,  and  resolutely  closed  her  lips. 

"Well!  Have  you  nothing  to  say?"  he  asked  angrily. 
"Does  silence  give  consent?" 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you  what  you  had  to  gain — what  self 
ish  motive  was  behind  this  sudden  desire  to  crush  me?  Will 
it  make  you  happier  to  humiliate  me?" 

"Womanlike,  you  choose  the  unpleasantest  way  of  stating 
your  interpretations.  I  am  not  trying  to  crush  you  or  wound 
you.  I  do  not  like  this  unsettled  way  of  living — this  cat-and- 
dog  existence.  Our  marriage  was  a  mistake  and  you  and  I 
are  not  suited  to  each  other." 

The  calmness  with  which  she  looked  at  him  matched  his 
own  insolence. 

"I  will  not  agree,"  she  said  coldly.    "Never." 

Bitter  hatred  was  in  Hugh  Crawford 's  heart  when  he  gazed 
critically  at  the  haggard  face  of  the  woman  defying  him. 

"My  dear,  you  cannot  see  yourself.  If  you  did  you  might 
understand.  A  year  brings  many  changes — not  always  to  be 
desired,"  and  he  smiled  insultingly  at  Anne's  horrified  look 
of  surprise  at  his  cold-bloodedness.  "You  were  a  rather 
attractive  girl,  but  our  connubial  felicity  has  made  a  sad 
change  in  you,  my  dear — and  you  know  how  much  I  appre 
ciate  all  that  is  lovely." 

"Who  is  she?"  she  asked  mechanically.  "Of  course  you 
love  some  one  else." 


106  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  Crawford  laughed  unpleasantly. 
Her  jealousy  was  so  like  her.  He  turned  to  the  door  say 
ing,  "I  must  confess  your  charms  are  not  very  evident  to 
me.  I  am  going  and  I  hope  we  understand  each  other.  You 
will  have  fair  treatment,  but  I  demand  my  liberty.  I  think 
you  do  agree  with  me,  after  all." 

"No,"  she  repeated  dully.     "I  do  not  agree." 

Crawford  turned  impatiently. 

"Don't  be  a  simpleton,  Anne,"  he  cried  passionately. 
"Can't  you  see  what  a  failure  our  married  life  has  been — 
what  a  complete  failure !  The  time  has  come  to  end  it.  I  'm 
a  free  man — born  free — but  I  feel  like  a  slave." 

"Hugh!"  Anne  was  pleading  for  her  happiness  and  her 
face  was  pathetic.  "When  we  were  married  I  was  silly — just 
a  silly  girl.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  world  as  it  really  is.  1 
imagined  we  would  be  as  married  people  are  at  home,  just 
happy  to  be  together.  But  I'm  a  woman  now — I've  learned 
a  lot.  Let  us  forgive  each  other  and  go  back  to  La  Conner 
and  commence  all  over  again." 

"Don't  talk  rot!"  Crawford's  face  grew  hard.  "Damn 
it  all,  Anne,  can't  you  understand — can't  you  meet  me  half 
way?" 

Her  anger  rose  past  bounds  and  she  wondered  if  she  had 
been  too  spiritless.  She  would  assert  her  rights. 

"My  dear  Hugh,  I  realize  that  I  am  nothing  to  you.  My 
wishes  have  always  been  subservient  to  yours.  I  have  over 
looked  your  vices  and  refrained  from  mentioning  many  un 
pleasant  things,  trying  by  patience  to  keep  your  affection, 
but  I  will  not  agree  to  this.  It  would  be  wrong." 

"So  you  refuse!"  Crawford  angrily  cried.  "Aren't  you 
growing  puritanical  late  in  the  day?" 

"Yes,  it  is  late  in  the  day.  I  should  never  have  married 
you.  I — I  didn't  want  to  marry  you  after  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  your  true  character  in  London." 


MAN'S  INHUMANITY.  107 

She  stopped  abruptly,  blushing  painfully. 

"Don't  lie!  You  asked  me  to  marry  you.  I  did  the  hon 
orable  thing.  1  gave  you  my  name  because  you  ran  after 
me  and  I  was  sorry  for  you. ' ' 

Anne's  face  grew  ashen,  but  she  did  not  give  up. 

"Perhaps — you  used  to  tell  me  that  I  was  jealous.  I  won't 
be  so  again.  Perhaps — " 

"Perhaps!  Perhaps!  You  have  made  my  life  a  hell,  but 
let  us  dispense  with  any  talk  of  sentiment."  He  laughed 
wearily.  "At  least  the  worst  is  over  and  you  know  how  I 
feel." 

"But  divorce  is  disgraceful,"  she  still  argued  faintly. 
"Most  people  have  the  same  opinion  that  I  have — that  di 
vorce  is  dishonorable.  I  could  not  bear  it." 

"Divorce  disgraceful!"  Crawford  sneered.  "Why,  you're 
crazy.  There  need  be  little  publicity.  It's  the  scandal  that 
would  be  painful — not  the  divorce  itself.  But  we  can  arrange 
things  quietly.  You  must  meet  this,  and  in  another  year  you 
will  have  forgotten  all  this  tragic  nonsense." 

"Hugh,  be  good  to  me — be  good  to  yourself.  I  will  never 
bother  you,  but — " 

"My  dear  girl,  you  know  I  hate  trouble  of  any  kind  and 
my  nature  is  pacific.  I  am  never  unreasonable,  but  in  this 
matter  I  am  firm  as  a  rock.  Everything  is  prepared. ' ' 

"You  mean  that  you  have  arranged  everything  to  suit 
yourself.  I  must  get  a  divorce."  She  crept  toward  him  like 
a  wild  animal  and  stood  before  her  husband,  her  eyes  blazing 
and  her  face  angry  and  hard.  ' '  I  thought  I  knew  you,  Hugh 
Crawford.  I  believed  that  in  spite  of  your  cruel  neglect  you 
still  loved  me  a  little,  but  now  I  know  that  I  was  mistaken." 
Her  voice  rose  with  passion.  "But  I  will  never  agree.  I 
am  your  wife  and  will  remain  your  wife." 

"For  your  own  sake  you  will  change  your  mind,"  Craw 
ford  replied.  "It  sounds  very  pretty  for  you  to  prate  about 
your  old-fashioned  theories,  but  try  to  remember  that  we  are 


108  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

separate  people — two  separate  personalities,  and  you  have 
not  the  right  to  inflict  your  ideas  or  yourself  on  me ;  no 
right  to  compel — " 

"Compel?  I  am  not  trying  to  compel  you  to  live  with 
me,  if  that  is  what  you  were  going  to  say,  but  I  will  not 
agree  to  a  divorce.  I  refuse.  Absolutely. ' ' 

Anne's  passion  passed  and  she  commenced  to  cry  miserably. 

"Well,  I'm  going  and  for  heaven's  sake  don't  let  us  have 
any  tears.  I  have  tried  to  act  decently,  but  I'll  leave  every 
thing  to  Keene — " 

Anne  looked  up. 

"So  Keene  is  going  to  do  the  dirty  work  for  you?  I 
thought  he  was  a  great  corporation  lawyer  and  would  not 
stoop  to  anything  like  this.  But  I  will  tell  him  how  you  have 
treated  me." 

"And  what  if  I  tell  him  that  you  met  me  in  apartments  in 
London — before  we  were  married." 

Anne's  mouth  opened  in  horror. 

"But  Hugh,"  she  cried,  "there  was  nothing  wrong!" 

"Who  would  believe  you?"  he  jeered  contemptuously. 
"Would  the  Deaks  or  your  virtuous  friends  at  home?  Would 
your  aunt  believe  it?  Would  you  be  welcome  among  your 
puritanical  friends  who  disapprove  of  divorce?" 

His  words  were  unwise.  He  did  not  know  that  the  gentle, 
passionate  girl  was  changing  into  a  wild,  proud  creature 
whose  hungry  heart  he  was  leaving  to  the  mercy  of  the 
world. 

Something — perhaps  the  tragedy  in  her  face — irritated  him, 
and  he  swojje  at  her  under  his  breath. 

"Now  do  you  understand  me?" 

"Yes!  Yes!  Please  go  away,"  she  murmured  faintly,  the 
tears  commencing  to  stream  down  her  face. 

When  Hugh  Crawford  left  the  room  she  stood  immov 
able,  listening  while  he  walked  through  the  hall — heard  his 


MAN'S  INHUMANITY.  109 

deep  voice  speaking  to  the  butler,  then  the  front  door  closed. 

She  bent  her  dark  head  over  her  arms  as  she  clung  to  the 
fireplace. 

"Dear  God!"  she  wept.  "I  was  only  a  fool.  I  paid  for 
my  folly.  Is  there  no  use  in  trying  to  do  right?  I  want  to 
be  happy  and  I  am  so  lonely — so  lonely.  It  isn't  fair.  It 
isn't  just." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
Managing  Aunt  Ellen. 


in 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN. 

On  the  same  steamer  that  brought  Eleanor  Hardeen  and 
her  boy  to  America,  Hugh  Crawford  remorselessly  planned 
the  blasting  of  his  wife's  happiness.  He  felt  some  uneasi 
ness,  fearing  Anne's  refusal  to  consider  a  divorce,  and  an 
ugly  determination  to  make  her  feel  her  weakness,  and 
coerce  her  into  compliance,  entered  his  mind. 

The  power  of  his  passion  for  Eleanor  swept  everything 
before  it,  making  wrong  appear  right,  and  he  grew  sorry 
for  himself,  and  reasoned  that  he  had  been  forced  into  his 
marriage  with  Anne.  She  had  always  thrown  herself  at 
his  head  and  he  decided  that  he  had  been  too  kind.  "But 
I'm  going  to  get  rid  of  her,"  he  vowed,  and  not  one  pang 
of  conscience  disturbed  him — not  one  qualm  of  compassion 
disquieted  him. 

It  rained  almost  incessantly  and  the  voyage  was  extremely 
unpleasant,  much  to  his  disappointment,  for  he  had  counted 
on  spending  hours  with  Eleanor,  assuring  himself  that  the 
intimacy  of  a  voyage  was  worth  months  of  devotion  on 
land,  but  though  Phil  took  daily  walks  with  his  nurse,  his 
mother  remained  in  her  cabin. 

Crawford  tried  to  win  the  child's  affections,  but  in  spite 
of  all  overtures,  Phil  disliked,  and  was  jealous  of  the  big 
man  in  the  blue  flannels. 

"He's  badly  spoiled,"  Crawford  muttered  when  the  boy 
in  wild  spirits  ran  away  from  his  nurse  and  tried  to  climb 
the  railing.  "He  needs  a  man  to  manage  him." 

The  nurse  Bertha  lifted  Phil  and  placed  him  on  the  deck, 
but  he  again  ran  away,  staggering  to  Crawford  and  holding 
out  his  hands.  Hugh  seized  him.  He  really  loved  children 

113 


114  RETURN  OF  HUGE  CRAWFORD 

and  felt  a  pleasureable  excitement  in  holding  the  squirming 
youngster  in  his  arms  until  the  white-capped  nurse  swooped 
down  on  them. 

"You  must  not  run  away  from  your  nurse,  Phil,"  he 
exclaimed.  "Men  don't  run  away  from  women." 

Phil  tried  to  struggle  to  the  deck,  but  Crawford  held  him 
fast.  "I  haven't  any  little  boy,"  he  said  to  the  child. 
"Would  you  like  to  belong  to  me?" 

"No!"  the  child  answered  bluntly.  "I  don't  like  you. 
I  belong  to  my  mamma." 

"Come,  come,  Master  Phil!  You  mustn't  be  rude,"  the 
nurse  scolded.  "You're  a  naughty  boy,"  and  wondering 
why  he  should  be  reproved  for  speaking  the  truth,  the 
child  submissively  went  to  the  woman. 

When  Eleanor  came  on  deck  on  the  morning  of  the  last 
day,  she  appeared  more  desirable  than  ever.  Her  eyes 
fairly  danced  with  excitement.  She  smiled  when  Crawford 
eagerly  went  to  her,  his  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression 
of  tenderness. 

"You  are  better?"  he  asked.  "It  has  been  a  lonely  voy 
age  for  me.  I  have  longed  to  see  you." 

She  held  out  her  hand  in  her  charming,  impulsive  way. 

"Oh,  no!  You  could  not  possibly  be  lonely  with  hun 
dreds  of  nice  people  around  you,"  she  exclaimed,  but  her 
face  saddened  as  she  gazed  off  toward  the  shore.  "I  have 
not  been  really  ill.  I  needed  a  rest,  and — Mr.  Crawford — 
I  was  a  bride  when  I  left  America.  It  is  not  the  home 
coming  we  all  expected." 

She  tried  to  speak  composedly,  but  her  eyes  were  bright 
\rith  tears. 

Crawford  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  She  had  not 
worn  mourning  and  she  had  not  seemed  to  grieve  for  her 
husband.  Was  it  possible  that  she  had  loved  Phil's  father? 

He  looked  distressed  and,  without  a  thought  of  the  people 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  115 

crowding  around  them,  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  and, 
speaking  impulsively,  said  the  wisest  thing  he  could  have 
chosen — 

"You  have  your  boy." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  looked  at  him  with  eloquent  eyes. 

They  were  nearing  the  wharf  and  everyone  was  inter 
ested.  After  watching  a  group  on  the  dock,  Eleanor  ex 
citedly  called  Phil  and  snatched  him  up  in  her  arms.  She 
had  recognized  her  own  people,  and  tried  to  point  out  her 
father  to  the  child  who  obediently  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  mass  of  humanity  on  the  pier. 

Crawford  saw  that  he  was  forgotten  and  retreated  to 
the  background,  smiling  complacently,  satisfied  that  it 
would  be  different  some  day.  He  was  quite  convinced 
of  that. 

After  they  landed  and  stood  on  the  dock,  the  Deaks 
tried  to  be  cordial  to  Crawford,  whom  they  had  heard  of 
as  Anne's  husband,  but  Eleanor  and  the  boy  absorbed  their 
thoughts  and  they  were  relieved  when  he  withdrew  to  have 
his  belongings  examined. 

His  expression  was  serious  when  he  rode  uptown  to  his 
hotel  and  he  was  very  thoughtful  during  dinner,  though  his 
mood  did  not  interfere  with  his  enjoyment  of  the  meal. 
When  it  was  over  he  returned  to  his  suite  and  told  Saunders 
to  pack  necessary  belongings,  and  moodily  watched  the 
silent  valet. 

"We  are  going  to  Washington  for  a  few  days." 

"Yes,  sir!"  Saunders'  face  was  very  happy  and  the 
discovery  surprised  Crawford,  who  did  not  know  that  his 
man  was  courting  Dora. 

"We'll  be  back  in  a  week.  Tell  the  office  to  hold  all  mail 
for  me." 

"Very  good,  Sir."  Saunders'  face  fell.  The  man  was 
wondering  if  Dora  would  be  satisfied  to  leave  the  service  of 


116  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Mrs.  Crawford,  but  his  master's  frowns  reminded  him  that 
he  was  not  paid  for  wondering  and  he  patiently  resumed 
packing. 


The  weather  was  becoming  chilly  and  social  New  York 
was  returning  for  the  winter. 

The  magnificent  home  of  Philip  Deak  again  rang  with 
merry  voices,  but  the  owner  of  all  the  grandeur  sat  in  his 
high-ceilinged  den,  his  handsome  gray  head  resting  against 
the  back  of  his  own  particular  chair,  while  his  white, 
patrician  hands  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  Spanish  leather.  He 
was  not  alone,  for  Eleanor  was  sitting  opposite,  arguing, 
begging  and  demanding. 

Let  us  find  out  what  is  causing  all  this  emotion — what 
great  tragedy  Philip  Deak  was  facing.  He  had  his  daughter 
and  grandson  with  him.  He  had  obtained  the  desires  of  his 
heart — what  could  mar  his  happiness? 

"It's  out  of  the  question,"  he  said,  "and  madcap  foolish 
ness.  ' ' 

"No,  it  isn't  foolishness,  Daddy.  Aunt  Ellen  deserves  to 
be  happy." 

"Isn't  she  happy  with  us?  Hasn't  she  everything  a 
woman  can  desire?" 

"No,  dear!  She  has  not,"  Eleanor  answered  decidedly, 
and  when  she  came  to  him  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
Philip  Deak  knew  he  was  lost.  "She  thinks  she  has  happi 
ness,  but  she  hasn't,"  Eleanor  whispered.  "She  Avants 
Andrew  MacVeety.  She  wants  her  own  home  and  interests 
— she  wants  the  love  of  a  good  man." 

"Pshaw!  She's  an  old  maid,"  Deak  growled.  "She'll 
buck.  She'll  never  marry." 

"You  just  wait  and  see,"  Eleanor  nodded  her  head 
wisely.  "I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  Daddy  dear,  and 
I'm  going  to  look  after  things  and  try  to  take  Aunt  Ellen's 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  117 

place  in  the  house.  I'm  never  going  to  leave  my  darling 
Daddy  again.  You  and  little  Phil  are  my  world." 

That  night  Philip  Deak  telegraphed  a  night  letter  to 
Andrew  MacVeety  which  Eleanor  helped  dictate,  and  when 
he  thought  it  over,  he  decided  that,  after  all,  it  might  be 
pleasant  to  escape  his  sister's  argus-eyed  surveillance,  and 
MacVeety  had  "made  good"  and  deserved  to  be  happy. 

In  pursuance  of  preconcerted  plans,  Miss  Deak  was  im 
plored  to  accompany  Eleanor  to  Chicago  on  important  busi 
ness.  She  looked  sharply  at  her  niece,  who  stood  in  front 
of  a  long  mirror,  admiring  her  dainty  foot,  and  curving  her 
slender  ankle  at  graceful  angles,  while  she  gazed  solemnly 
at  the  reflection. 

"Do  stop  playing  with  your  foot,  Eleanor,  and  tell  me 
why  you  can't  send  your  lawyer, "  Miss  Deak  said  crossly. 
"I  can't  understand  why  you  need  me  to  go  with  you. 
You  crossed  the  ocean  without  a  chaperone;  and  I  don't 
approve  of  your  leaving  your  boy — even  for  a  week." 

"Oh,  Phil  will  be  all  right,"  his  mother  answered  cheer 
fully.  "Bertha  has  been  with  me  since  before  he  was  born, 
but  of  course  if  you  don't  go,  I'll  take  him." 

"Good  gracious!"  Miss  Deak  raised  a  face  brimming 
with  uneasiness.  "Don't  speak  of  such  a  thing.  The  child 
can't  be  rested  from  the  voyage,  and  I'll  go  with  you.  I've 
always  been  a  slave  to  you  and  Philip.  We'd  better  start 
to-night  and  get  it  over." 

' '  Very  well,  darling ! ' '  Eleanor  quelled  her  disposition  to 
laugh,  and  that  evening,  when  she  and  her  aunt  sat  in  the 
observation  end  of  Deak 's  private  car,  she  cheerfully  stared 
into  the  twilight. 

Ellen  Deak  had  to  confess  that  Eleanor  was  more  beauti 
ful  than  ever  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  she  was  in 
wardly  flattered  that  her  gay,  independent  niece  wanted 
her  companionship.  But  letters  from  Andrew  MacVeety 
had  put  her  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  and  she  was  torn 


118  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

between  desire  to  see  her  lover  and  fear  of  appearing  absurd 
in  meeting  him  with  the  youthful  and  merry  Eleanor  acting 
as  chaperone. 

"It  is  very  strange  that  Andrew  should  be  in  Chicago 
just  now,"  she  fumed  to  Eleanor.  "It  is  rather  embarrass 
ing  for  me." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  Eleanor  retorted.  "Mr.  MacVeety  is 
a  Western  man  and  may  make  frequent  visits  that  he  does 
not  mention  to  you.  He  may  have  charming  friends  in 
Chicago.  He's  a  fine-looking  man — in  the  prime  of  life." 

"He's  older  than  I  am,"  exclaimed  Miss  Deak  sepulch- 
rally.  "He's  half  a  century  old." 

"Pouf!"  Eleanor  shocked  her  aunt  by  her  French  man 
ner.  "I  admire  him  very  much,  and  fifty  is  not  old — for 
a  man." 

Ellen  Deak  irritably  drew  her  chair  away  from  the  win 
dow  and  did  not  reply.  She  closed  her  eyes,  but  she  was 
not  sleepy  and  her  th'oughts  were  as  unquiet  as  the  wheels 
whirling  over  the  rails. 

"That  foolish  girl  has  no  depth.  She  has  been  married 
.  and  widowed  but  does  not  yet  realize  the  seriousness  of  life 
and,  just  because  men  run  after  her  with  their  best  foot 
first,  she  thinks  they  all  are  'Romeos.'  She'd  flirt  with  any 
man — even  Andrew."  She  sighed  deeply  when  she  thought 
of  her  own  past  youth. 

When  they  left  the  train  in  Chicago,  they  drove  to  the 
hotel  writh  MacVeety,  who  had  been  waiting  for  them  with 
feverish  impatience.  Eleanor  pleaded  a  headache  and  re 
tired  to  her  room,  and  on  the  following  morning  left  Miss 
Deak  alone,  while  she  left  the  hotel  "to  attend  to  business 
regarding  some  Hardeen  property." 

She  smiled  maliciously  when  her  aunt  complained  about 
being  alone.  Andrew  MacVeety  was  near  at  hand  and  it 
was  Miss  Deak's  fault  if  she  felt  lonely,  and  Eleanor  looked 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  119 

very  handsome  and  heartless  when  she  smiled  into  her  aunt's 
discontented  face. 

When  she  returned  to  the  hotel  for  luncheon  she  saw  an 
energetic  little  woman  dressed  very  quietly,  arguing  with 
the  hotel  clerk.  It  Avas  her  aunt,  the  wealthy  sister  of  a 
money  king — a  bachelor  maid  who  had  the  true  Yankee 
hatred  of  being  "done,"  and  she  was  enjoying  herself. 

The  manager  of  the  hotel  came  up  when  she  disappeared 
through  a  side  door. 

"What  did  Miss  Deak  want?  Don't  hesitate  about  ex 
plaining  things  to  her,"  he  instructed  the  clerk.  "Her  name 
on  the  register  means  a  lot  to  the  house  and  she's  hand-in- 
glove  with  the  best  people.  Never  mind  if  she  screws  you 
down.  She's  bound  to  do  that — she  can  afford  to  do  it. 
She's  not  liberal,  but  she's  square  as  a  man." 

Eleanor  Hardeen  tried  to  act  as  if  she  had  not  heard  and 
swept  to  the  dining-room,  but  she  was  furious  with  her 
aunt. 

"I  do  hope  Mr.  MacVeety  doesn't  waste  his  chances  and 
that  auntie  doesn't  scare  him  into  going  home  without  her," 
she  thought. 

After  her  argument  with  the  clerk,  Ellen  Deak  hurried 
from  the  hotel  and  stepped  into  a  waiting  carriage.  The 
big,  bearded  man  holding  the  reins  almost  lifted  her  into 
her  place. 

"That's  right,  Ellie,"  he  cried  loudly.    "Jump  right  in." 

Andrew  MacVeety  tenderly  tucked  the  lap  robe  around 
the  pale  woman  who  looked  at  the  horses  Avith  frightened 
eyes. 

She  had  always  been  the  "one  woman"  to  him  and  he 
loved  even  her  eccentricities,  but  she  evaded  his  glances  and 
already  repented  of  coming,  for  they  were  rapidly  speeding 
through  the  avenue,  and  she  nervously  clutched  his  arm. 
She  appreciated  MacVeety 's  fidelity  and  was  proud  of  his 


120  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

devotion,  but  she  despised  him  for  his  fear  of  her  displeas 
ure,  which  she  considered  lack  of  courage. 

"He's  afraid  of  me,"  she  thought  ironically.  "We've 
been  writing  to  each  other  for  twenty  years  and  I  suppose 
he'll  go  back  to  his  horses  and  we'll  correspond  for  twenty 
years  more." 

"Why  don't  you  buy  a  car?"  she  asked.  "No  one  in 
their  sane  mind  drives  horses  in  the  city.  We'll  have  a 
runaway  if  you're  not  more  careful." 

"Perhaps  we  will,"  MacVeety  answered  cheerfully.  Was 
it  bravado  or  nervousness  that  made  him  check  the  horses 
so  sharply  that  they  almost  sat  on  their  haunches  and  waved 
their  forefeet  like  begging  dogs?  Passers-by  gazed  at  the 
circus-like  spectacle,  and  Ellen  Deak  clutched  more  firmly 
the  arm  of  her  lover. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said  calmly,  and,  given  free  rein,  the 
horses  swung  ahead. 

Miss  Deak  reddened  at  the  curtness  of  the  tone  and  looked 
up  in  surprise  at  the  huge  man  beside  her,  but  he  was  gazing 
ahead. 

"What's  the  matter,  Andrew?"  she  demanded. 

He  shifted  the  reins  before  answering. 

"I'm  thinking  of  going  right  back  home.  Are  you  ready 
to  come  along?"  He  touched  up  the  horses  with  the  whip, 
and  if  he  could  have  known  the  terror  in  Ellen  Deak's  heart 
he  would  have  been  ashamed  of  himself,  for  MacVeety  was 
a  gentleman,  but  he  made  the  horses  dance  and  prance,  then 
suddenly  pulled  them  in.  The  animals  were  his  special  pets 
and  knew  his  hand  on  the  reins — knew  he  was  playing  with 
them,  and  responded  to  every  movement  of  the  lines.  ' '  You 
haven't  answered  my  question,  Ellie. " 

"Oh,  Andrew!  This  is  hardly  the  time  to  talk  about  such 
things,"  Miss  Deak  evaded,  flushing  like  a  young  girl. 
"We'll  speak  of  it  another  time." 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  121 

They  were  flying  over  the  long  level  roads  outside  the 
city. 

"No,  Ellie,"  MacVeety  said  decidedly,  "we  won't  talk 
of  it  another  time.  I'm  going  to  know  today — now.  You 
must  make  up  your  mind.  I've  been  talking  with  Eleanor 
and  she  told  me  that  I  was  wasting  my  time — that  you  will 
never  marry  the  best  man  in  the  world,  so  I  suppose  I  don't 
stand  much  chance." 

"When  did  you  see  her?"  asked  the  irate  lady. 

"This  morning.  I  met  her  outside  of  the  hotel  and  she 
let  me  ride  downtown  with  her." 

(Which  was  strictly  true.) 

"Well,  Eleanor  talks  altogether  too  much.  She  always 
did.  I  '11  tell  her  what  I  think  of  her  impertinence. ' ' 

"Now,  don't  get  mad  at  Eleanor.  She's  right.  You're 
too  good  for  any  man.  She  says  so  and  she  ought  to  know 
when  you've  taken  care  of  her  all  your  life." 

Miss  Deak  looked  up  to  see  if  there  was  a  double  meaning 
in  MacVeety 's  words,  but  found  his  face  free  from  guile. 
A  desire  to  show  her  independence,  and  hazy  possibilities  of 
great  happiness,  gathered  in  her  mind. 

"As  usual,  Eleanor  thinks  she  knows  everything,  but  you 
can  tell  her  that  I  '11  marry  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  ready. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  Ellie !  Do  you  mean  it  ? "  MacVeety  cried,  dropping 
the  reins  and  clasping  the  horrified  woman  in  his  arms. 
The  horses  contentedly  shook  their  heads  and  rattled  their 
harness,  but  did  not  try  to  run  away,  and  wandered  to  the 
side  of  the  road  to  nose  among  the  grass  and  autumn  leaves. 
They  were  free  as  air  and  the  lines  fell  from  their  necks  to 
the  ground,  while  the  enraptured  man  hugged  and  kissed 
Miss  Deak,  almost  strangling  her  in  his  huge  arms  and 
smothering  her  with  kisses. 

"I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Andrew  MacVeety,"  she  cried  when 
she  could  get  her  breath,  for  the  first  time  regarding  with 
fear  the  stalwart  form  of  her  husband-to-be ;  then  her  eyes 


122  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

strayed  to  the  horses  and  she  exclaimed,  ' '  Good  gracious ! 
Look  at  the  animals.    Get  out  at  once  and  get  the  reins  in 
your  hands — and  take  me  right  back  to  Eleanor." 
'    "May  I  dine  with  you  to-night,  Ellie?" 

"No,  indeed!"  (Already  she  was  managing  MacVeety 
and  he  liked  it.) 

"Very  well,  dear,"  he  pleasantly  replied,  accepting  her 
dictum.  He  was  supremely  happy  and  mentally  vowed  to 
give  Eleanor's  boy  the  handsomest  pony  in  the  land,  just 
to  show  his  appreciation  of  the  advice  he  had  received. 

He  turned  the  horses'  heads  and  they  sped  towards  the 
city  and  soon  were  within  the  limits  and  had  to  regulate 
their  speed.  MacVeoty  braced  himself  when  they  came  in 
front  of  the  hotel  and,  disdaining  the  proffered  services  of 
the  carriage  opener,  to  the  horror  of  Miss  Deak  and  the 
amusement  of  a  few  by-standers,  he  lifted  his  fiancee  from 
the  carriage,  placed  her  on  the  pavement  and  heartily  kissed 
her.  Again  the  horses  were  gentle  as  lambs. 

"See  you  to-night,"  he  called  and  jumped  into  the  car 
riage  and  drove  away. 

With  head  erect  and  cheeks  burning,  Miss  Deak  walked 
into  the  hotel  and  went  immediately  to  Eleanor.  She  found 
that  young  woman  lazily  reading  a  novel. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  telling  things  to  Andrew?  You're 
a  wicked  woman!"  she  burst  out  and  commenced  to  cry. 
Eleanor  looked  a  little  worried  when  she  bent  over  her 
aunt.  "He  never  acted  so  before,"  continued  Miss  Deak, 
"and  he  made  me  the  laughing  stock  of  the  hotel.  I  never 
felt  so  humiliated  in  all  my  life." 

"Why,  darling,  I  hope  I  didn't  make  any  trouble  between 
you,"  Eleanor  whispered  soothingly,  wondering  what  had 
happened  to  cause  such  a  storm.  "Mr.  MacVeety  is  such  a 
dear,  big,  good-hearted  man,  it  seems  too  bad  he  is  never 
to  be  happy.  Many  women — and  girls — would  be  proud  of 
the  chance  to  marry  him." 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  123 

"Don't  waste  your  sympathy  unnecessarily.  Andrew  and 
I  are  to  be  married  very  soon." 

Eleanor  laughed:  the  silvery,  hearty  laugh  that  showed 
her  teeth  in  a  flashing  smile  and  her  eyes  twinkled  with 
merriment. 

With  an  angry  look  at  the  laughing  face,  Ellen  Deak 
flounced  out  of  the  parlor  connecting  the  sleeping  rooms 
and  went  into  her  own  chamber.  She  sat  down  and  tried 
to  control  her  temper  and  think,  without  absurdly  foolish 
fears.  If  she  had  dreamed  that  her  lover  and  Eleanor  had 
exchanged  confidences  or  that  they  had  put  their  heads 
together  to  manage  her,  she  never  would  have  forgiven 
either  culprit,  but  she  was  never  to  be  aware  of  the  secret 
of  MacVeety's  sudden  boldness.  Her  eyes  closed  for  an 
instant  and  when  they  opened  they  fell  on  the  dressing 
table  where  her  switch  and  numberless  trifles  necessary  for 
her  toilet  were  lying.  How  could  she  let  Andrew  see  her 
without  her  transformation  and  other  beautifiers?  She 
would  have  no  privacy  if  she  married,  and  her  soul  rebelled 
at  the  thought  of  even  Andrew  sharing  her  life. 

She  blushed  when  she  looked  in  the  mirror  and  saw  her 
gray  hair  and  the  wrinkles  commencing  to  gather  around 
her  eyes.  She  was  too  old.  She  could  not  marry  and  she 
would  tell  him  so.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  mar 
riage — could  not  give  up  the  easy,  indolent,  happy,  single 
life. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  eat  any  dinner  and  waited  half 
heartedly  for  him. 

He  came,  sincerely — perfectly — happy  and,  in  spite  of  her 
timid  shrinking,  held  her  against  his  breast  and  kissed  her 
long  and  lingeringly. 

"Oh,  Andrew!  How  dare  you  kiss  me  like  that?"  she 
protested,  ready  to  cry.  She  was  hardly  able  to  breathe 
after  the  ardent  caress. 


124  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Well,  we're  going  to  be  married,"  MacVeety  laughed 
apologetically.  "You  may  as  well  get  used  to  me." 

' '  No,  we  're  not  going  to  marry, ' '  she  cried.  ' '  I  've  changed 
my  mind.  I  don't  love  you  enough  to  marry  you." 

"You  don't  love  me  enough?" 

The  big  man  looked  down  at  the  little  woman,  helpless 
and  stunned. 

"No!" 

"Don't  think  I  will  ever  ask  you  again,"  he  burst  out 
angrily.  "I've  had  enough  of  waiting.  It 's  taken  you  some 
time  to  find  out  that  you  don't  care  for  me,  but  it's  better 
to  tell  me  the  truth.  I'll  go  back  West,  where  yes  means 
yes  and  no  means  no." 

"I  hope  I  haven't  ruined  your  life,  Andrew." 

MacVeety  sighed  loudly  and  shook  his  head,  but  his  tone 
grew  apologetic. 

"Well,  Ellie,  of  course  I'm  disappointed,  but  if  you  have 
changed  your  mind  as  you  say  you  have  don't  bother  about 
me  any  more.  It  won't  make  any  difference  in  a  hundred 
years  and  I'm  going  to  be  honest  with  you.  I  came  east 
to  be  married  and  I'm  going  to  take  my  wife  back  with  me. 
T  want  my  own  home — my  own  family,  and  if  I  can't  get 
the  woman  I've  waited  for,  like  the  chap  in  the  Bible  did — 
why,  I'll  have  to  get  someone  else.  I'll  try  to  make  her 
happy." 

His  soul  was  filled  with  satisfaction  when  he  saw  the 
shocked  surprise  in  Miss  Beak's  face. 

"You  may  not  find  it  easy  to  find  a  woman  who  would 
care  for  you — that  would  understand  you." 

"If  I  can't  have  you,  I '11. have  to  do  the  best  I  can,"  he 
retorted  sportily.  "  I  '11  take  chances. ' ' 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  be  happy,"  she  said  acidly,  unable 
to  fathom  her  feelings. 

"Oh,  I'll  be  happy,  all  right.  Who  Avas  it  said  'life  is 
too  short  for  repining?'  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  fool  even  if 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  125 

I  do  love  you,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  nice  to  my  wife."  He 
felt  like  a  brute  when  he  noted  the  sadness  in  the  handsome, 
elderly  face,  and  added  more  tenderly:  "I  didn't  think 
you'd  jilt  me,  dear.  Will  you  kiss  me  good-bye?" 

Although  she  started  to  cry  he  resolutely  turned  toward 
the  door.  A  dreadful  picture  of  her  Andrew  and  another 
woman  flashed  through  Ellen  Deak's  mind.  Perhaps  an 
other  woman — a  girl — was  waiting,  hoping  to  get  him. 

"Andrew,  I  didn't  mean  it.  Oh,  don't  leave  me!"  she 
cried,  and  meekly  went  to  the  man  who  took  her  in  his 
arms. 

He  did  not  try  to  frighten  her  with  caresses  and  was 
completely  dazed  by  the  victory.  He  never  could  remember 
how  he  spent  the  evening  or  what  they  talked  about,  and 
when  he  walked  to  his  hotel  he  wondered  how  he  had  been 
able  to  keep  from  betraying  the  nervousness  under  which 
he  had  labored. 

The  next  morning  he  called  Eleanor  over  the  telephone. 
He  told  her  he  was  afraid  he  would  not  be  able  to  hold  his 
new  authority  and  confided  his  fear  of  a  big  wedding. 

"I  wish  she  would  marry  me  here — in  Chicago,"  he  said 
miserably.  "I'm  not  much  of  an  ornament  in  society,  but 
I  suppose  she'll  make  me  face  the  music." 

"Come  over  to  our  hotel,"  Eleanor's  voice  answered. 
"I'll  meet  you  in  the  red  room  and  we'll  talk  it  over." 

"Of  course,  you  must  get  married  right  here,"  she  told 
him  when  they  met.  "I  wouldn't  give  her  time  to  change 
her  mind,  if  I  were  you.  It  can  be  arranged  without  any 
trouble  and  is  not  unusual.  Then  you  and  Aunt  Ellen  can 
start  on  your  honeymoon  and  I'll  go  home  with  my  maid. 
I'll  telephone  for  Dad's  car  to  be  ready  for  me.  /  told  him 
I  would  come  back  without  auntie." 

"You  told  your  father?" 

MacVeety's  voice  showed  how  deeply  he  was  impressed  by 
the  coolness  with  which  Eleanor  disposed  of  his  future. 


126  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  flattered,  and  her  speech  bore  a  sugges 
tion  of  sweet  admiration.  "I  knew  that  just  so  soon  as  you 
asserted  yourself,  you  would  carry  everything  before  you. 
Aunt  Ellen  appears  firm,  but  she  really  needs  a  strong  arm 
to  lean  on — a  husband's  authority.  Every  woman  likes  to 
be  dominated  by  the  man  she  loves." 

While  her  marriage  was  being  arranged,  Ellen  Deak  rested 
unsuspectingly  in  her  room.  Her  doubts  of  MacVeety's 
courage  had  vanished  and  she  noted  with  satisfaction  that 
when  it  was  necessary,  the  real  firmness  of  his  character 
asserted  itself.  Her  vanity  had  received  a  blow  when  he 
suggested  putting  another  woman  in  his  life  and  she  rea 
soned  that  the  time  for  submerging  herself  in  his  interests 
and  taking  her  place  as  his  life  partner  had  arrived. 

MacVeety  found  no  difficulty  in  arranging  for  the  wed 
ding.  Everyone  was  most  kindly  sympathetic — most  inter 
ested,  and  all  that  worried  him  was  the  lady's  consent. 

Again  he  sought  Eleanor. 

"I'm  afraid  to  suggest  it  to  her,"  he  said  nervously. 
"You  do  it — or  perhaps  I'd  better  send  a  note." 

The  firmness  and  boldness  had  entirely  disappeared  from 
his  manner. 

"That  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  Eleanor  dissented.  "Come  up 
with  me  and  I'll  send  her  to  you.  You  won't  have  a  bit  of 
trouble  when  she  sees  you — but,  be  firm." 

She  triumphantly  carried  him  along. 

"Andy  Mac  V.  wants  to  see  you  at  once,"  she  whispered 
when  she  went  into  Miss  Deak's  room.  "Oh,  auntie,  but 
he 's  unco '  gude  lookin '.  He  'd  be  a  braw  laddie  i '  the 
kilties." 

"I  dislike  levity,  Eleanor.  What  does  he  want?  I  didn't 
expect  to  see  him  until  after  luncheon." 

"He  appears  very  nervous  and  impatient,  but  I  didn't 
ask  any  questions.  He's  not  one  of  the  family — yet." 

Her  aunt  drifted  through  the  door  which  she  gently  closed 


MANAGING  AUNT  ELLEN.  127 

after  her,  and  Eleanor  Hardeen,  wealthy  widow  and  social 
queen,  executed  a  little  war  dance.  She  laughed  with  her 
self  in  the  mirror  and  at  last  threw  herself  into  a  chair  by 
the  window. 

Aunt  Ellen  was  going  to  be  married  and  she — Eleanor — 
Dad's  girl,  was  going  home  to  her  father  and  son,  to  be 
mistress  of  their  home.  It  was  a  hope  realized  and  the 
world  was  glorious  and  gay. 

MacVeety  again  almost  lost  courage  when  he  looked  at 
the  dainty,  dignified  woman  coming  to  him,  but  he  collected 
his  wits  and  held  her  hand  tightly  in  his  grasp  while  he 
told  her  of  his  plans. 

She  dreAv  herself  back  in  alarm. 

"To-day!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  I'm  not  prepared.  I 
haven't  anything  writh  me.  I  must  ask  Eleanor,"  she  tem 
porized.  Clearly  she  had  never  known  this  man's  true 
nature  before. 

"I've  already  shipped  the  horses  back  to  the  ranch  and 
I  want  to  go  home,  Ellie.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  do  any 
thing  unreasonable,  but  we're  going  to  live  together  for  life 
and  the  sooner  we  begin,  the  better.  I  don't  want  to  be 
dictatorial,"  he  coughed  nervously,  "but  I  expect  you  to 
please  me,  dear." 

He  was  cold  with  fear  that  she  would  refuse  and  almost 
dazed  when  she  said  briskly : 

"Very  well,  Andrew.    We  may  as  well  have  it  over." 

The  next  few  hours  passed  like  a  whirlwind  and  after 
the  ceremony  the  newly  married  couple  took  Eleanor  to  the 
station.  It  was  growing  dark  and  they  sat  in  the  brilliantly 
lighted  end  of  Philip  Beak's  car  that  had  brought  Aunt 
Ellen  to  unexpected  wedlock. 

"I  feel  as  if  Andrew  and  I  had  eloped,"  the  bride  whis 
pered,  a  world  of  happiness  in  her  face,  and  a  rush  of  affec 
tion  prompted  her  to  throw  her  arms  around  Eleanor's  neck. 


128  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"I  wish  Philip  had  been  here.  You  must  tell  him  just  how 
it  was,  dear." 

Eleanor  kissed  them  both  and  answered:  "It  wasn't  an 
elopement,  auntie,  but  a  real  abduction.  Wasn't  it,  Uncle 
Andrew  I ' ' 

That  night,  lying  awake  in  the  darkness,  she  reviewed 
the  events  of  the  past  few  days.  Aunt  Ellen  was  married, 
but  somehowr  she  could  not  repress  a  sigh.  Was  she  going 
to  miss  the  little  woman  who  had  ruled  the  Deak  house 
hold?  She  noted  that  her  maid  was  stirring  restlessly  on 
her  couch  and  breathing  heavily  and  she  wished  the  woman 
would  be  quiet ;  but  gradually  her  own  eyes  closed  and  she 
lost  consciousness. 

When  she  awakened,  the  autumn  sun  was  shining,  the 
gorgeous  colorings  of  Indian  summer  greeted  her,  and  the 
woman  who  had  unconsciously  come  between  Hugh  Craw 
ford  and  his  wife,  dressed  slowly,  then  with  a  smile  on  her 
face  walked  into  the  centre  of  the  car,  and  carelessly  draw 
ing  a  flower  from  the  bouquet  on  her  breakfast  table,  fast 
ened  it  among  the  laces  on  her  breast. 


CHAPTER  X. 
When  You  Play  With  Love. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  You  PLAY  WITH  LOVE. 

When  Hugh  Crawford  deliberately  sought  his  wife  and, 
with  impacable  selfishness,  demanded  a  divorce,  he  expected 
an  outburst  of  passionate  indignation  and  refusal,  but  her 
grief  and  surprise  did  not  make  him  deviate  from  his  purpose, 
although  he  did  regret  the  insulting  denunciations  with  which 
he  had  shocked  her  soul  with  taunting  truths  and  rudely 
demolished  all  her  hopes. 

"I  was  foolish  to  try  to  reason  with  her  at  all.  Our  law 
yers  could  have  explained  my  rights  and  saved  me  all  this 
trouble.  I  tried  to  make  it  easy  for  her,"  he  thought  with 
self-commiseration.  "She  doesn't  seem  to  realize  that  we  have 
had  a  year  of  misery  and  spoiled  each  other's  chance  of  hap 
piness.  She  is  young  and  rich.  No  doubt  she  will  marry 
some  fellow  who  will  enjoy  her  constant  endearments,  and 
'be  happy  ever  after.'  : 

Crawford  did  not  dread  the  retribution  which  relentlessly 
follows  evil  motives  and  by  the  time  he  arrived  at  his  hotel 
felt  that  he  had  acted  rather  well,  and  enjoyed  a  good  night's 
sleep. 

He  had  consulted  specialists  about  the  haze  that  sometimes 
obscured  his  vision  and  the  pain  back  of  his  eyes;  but  he 
had  received  no  permanent  relief  and  determined  to  see  von 
Soiron,  the  great  German  occulist,  who  was  established  in 
Washington. 

On  the  morning  following  his  interview  with  Anne,  his 
spirits  were  low,  but  he  dressed  warmly,  for  the  weather,  was 
gusty  and  cloudy.  It  was  not  far  to  the  imposing  building 
where  von  Soiron  had  his  offices  and  Crawford  gave  his  card 
to  the  attendant,  expecting  to  be  received  at  once.  But  his 

131 


132  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

name  and  money  gave  him  no  prestige  and  he  had  to  wait 
his  turn,  and  it  was  a  full  half  hour  before  the  door  opened 
for  him  and  the  nurse  nodded.  Crawford  had  met  von 
Soiron  in  Berlin  and  he  confidently  entered  the  presence  of 
the  great  man,  but  the  kind  face  looked  awe-inspiring  in 
the  light  from  the  immense  windows  and  though  no  one 
could  have  been  more  courteous,  there  was  no  conciliation 
in  his  simple  greeting. 

"And  so!  You  have  trouble?"  The  coldness  in  the  deep 
voice  sounded  formidable  to  Crawford.  "What  have  you 
been  doing?  You  are  qualified  to  be  a  physician  and  yet 
you  ruin  your  constitution  and  abuse  your  health.  You 
cannot  pretend  ignorance  of  natural  laws,  Mr.  Crawford. 
You  know  you  are  wearing  yourself  out." 

"I  am  not  any  different  from  other  men,"  Crawford  re 
plied,  surprised  and  indignant.  "Eye  trouble  is  not  un 
usual.  Both  my  father  and  mother  wore  glasses." 

"Well,  you  have  come  to  me  for  advice — is  it  not  so? 
You  are  a  strong  man,  but — more  out-door  exercise  and 
natural  rest — less  wine  and  women,  and  no  excesses  of  any 
kind.  If  you  do  not  control  your  appetites  and  emotions 
you  will  lose  your  sight,  perhaps  for  a  time — perhaps  for 
ever.  ' ' 

"For  God's  sake,  doctor,  don't  say  that!" 

Terror  struck  Crawford's  heart  and  he  sank  back  in  his 
chair. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say — " 

"I  have  already  said,"  von  Soiron  answered  in  his  pom 
pous  German  fashion.  "No  more  assaults  on  your  health." 

In  the  brilliant  sunlight  flooding  the  room,  the  doctor 
carefully  finished  his  examination,  unreservedly  commenting 
on  the  state  of  the  patient's  nerves.  Crawford  still  had  the 
student's  veneration  for  learned  professors,  though  he 
thought  Doctor  von  Soiron  unnecessarily  severe,  and,  he 
determined  to  curb  his  impulses  and  appetites,  and  during 


WHEN  YOU  PLAY  WITH  LOVE.  133 

the  week  he  spent  in  Washington,  suppressed  his  desire  to 
seek  the  sensuous  delights  and  exciting  stimulants  of  prodi 
gal  night  life  in  a  metropolis. 

He  sent  a  long,  incoherent  letter  to  Eleanor,  containing 
hints  about  present  misery  and  hopes  for  future  joy,  and 
dined  often  with  Lawyer  Keene,  who  was  led  to  believe  that 
Anne  was  eagerly  seeking  the  divorce. 

When  Eleanor  returned  from  Chicago  she  lound  Craw 
ford's  letter  awaiting  her,  and  she  knit  her  pretty  brows 
over  passages  that  seemed  mysterious  to  her,  then  threw  it 
carelessly  aside.  "I  suppose  he  has  quarreled  with  Anne," 
she  thought  indifferently.  "He's  very  handsome  and 
awfully  good  fun,  but  I  can't  see  wrhy  Anne  married  him. 
She's  grown  cold  and  peculiar — a  regular  little  nun,  and 
he'd  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  appeal  to  me — as  a 
husband,"  and  she  immediately  forgot  the  Crawfords. 

But  Hugh  Crawford  did  not  forget  her  and  took  her 
acceptance  of  his  already  world-worn  affections  for  granted. 
She  had  never  withheld  her  smiles  from  him  and  had  encour 
aged  the  delightful  comradeship  that  had  grown  between 
them.  The  startling  opinion  von  Soiron  had  pronounced 
did  not  prove  conclusively  that  the  trouble  with  his  eyes 
was  serious  and  he  concluded  not  to  be  oppressed  by  the 
doctor's  "croakings,"  and,  although  he  was  dignified  and 
tried  to  look  properly  serious,  he  was  elated  with  the  success 
of  his  interview  with  Anne  and  considered  himself  as  free 
as  though  the  divorce  was  granted.  He  was  glad  that  his 
wife's  passion  for  him  was  now  a  dead  thing  and  was  not 
ashamed  of  having  killed  her  love.  With  colossal  egotism 
he  felt  confident  that  Eleanor  would  fling  herself  into  his 
arms  (perhaps  not  as  readily  as  Anne  had)  and  it  exas 
perated  him  to  think  he  would  have  to  wait  until  the  divorce 
was  absolute  before  he  could  call  this  alluring  beauty  his 
own. 


134  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

He  blithely  returned  to  New  York,  dreaming  of  future 
joys. 

"Are  you  glad  to  see  me?  Have  you  a  real  welcome  for 
me?"  he  murmured  fervidly  when  he  went  toward  Eleanor. 
She  had  kept  him  waiting  almost  half  an  hour  in  the  per 
fectly  appointed  drawing-room  of  her  father's  mansion,  but 
his  head  was  high  and  the  compelling,  confident,  boyish 
look  which  attracted  many  women,  was  fastened  on  his 
face.  She  noticed  it  and  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  brilliant 
smile  of  indulgence. 

He  misinterpreted  her  graciousness,  and  to  her  amaze 
ment,  stretched  out  his  arms  appealingly,  apparently  under 
the  dominion  of  powerful  emotion.  She  never  was  really 
under  his  influence  and  now  his  attitude  made  her  impatient. 
She  unconsciously  stood  aggressively  facing  him,  vexed  to 
know  that  she  showed  embarrassment. 

"Where  is  Anne?"  she  asked  coldly.  "Did  she  return 
with  you?" 

"No,  she  is  in  Washington — but  do  not  speak  of  her," 
Crawford  whispered  thickly,  grasping  her  hands  and  almost 
hurting  her.  His  voice  trembled  and  his  eyes  shone,  as  he 
faltered,  "You  know  why  I  am  here — alone." 

"Indeed  I  do  not,"  Eleanor  answered  frankly.  She  tried 
to  speak  naturally  but  her  color  deepened  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  amazement,  for  Crawford's  eyes  were  filled  with 
neurotic  tears,  and,  in  spite  of  his  weakness,  he  never  looked 
so  attractive  in  his  life.  "Don't  you  understand?  I  am 
free — free,"  he  blurted  out,  "Anne  has  gone  out  of  my  life," 
and  he  told  her  his  side  of  the  story. 

Eleanor  waited  in  silence.  The  surprised  expression 
slowly  faded  from  her  face,  while  in  its  place  came  a  cold, 
resentful  stare,  for  Crawford  appeared  in  a  new  and  sinister 
light.  He  had  his  own  emotion  to  control  and  did  not  notice 
her  countenance.  She  listened  with  beating  heart,  uneasily 
feeling  that  he  was  telling  too  much  of  his  domestic  trouble, 


WHEN  YOU  PLAY  WITH  LOVE.  135 

and  she  wished  he  would  go  away,  or  that  someone  would 
interrupt  his  confidences. 

"But  now  that  everything  is  settled,  I  have  come  to  you 
for  comfort,  dear,"  he  said  masterfully.  "I  need  you." 

"Me!"  she  flashed  out,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  anger. 
"I'm  afraid  I  do  not  quite  understand  you." 

With  a  shock  she  was  awakened  to  the  realization  that  she 
had  made  a  grave  mistake  in  disregarding  Anne's  feelings 
and  amusing  herself  with  her  friend's  husband,  and  en 
couraging  the  attentions  of  the  man  who  should  have  been 
with  his  wife — his  chosen  mate.  Now  she  understood  why 
Anne  had  been  disagreeable  and  cold — but  she  had  not  meant 
any  harm.  She  hadn't  thought  of  Anne.  It  was  as  if  a 
bandage  had  been  removed  from  her  eyes  and  she  saw  the 
heartlessness  of  her  flirtation  in  its  true  light. 

' '  Yes,  you,  my  darling !  You  know  I  love  you, ' '  Crawford 
said  with  emotion,  then  as  if  conscious  of  being  on  thin  ice, 
"I  have  never  deceived  you.  I  have  hidden  nothing  from 
you.  Throw  aside  conventional  scruples  and  trust  me," 
and  seeing  the  red  flaming  in  Eleanor's  face,  "Don't — for 
God's  sake — don't  refuse  me.  I  love  you — I  love  you.  Anne 
did  not—" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Crawford!  Please!  I  do  not  care  to  discuss 
Anne  or  share  any  confidence  with  you."  Instead  of  re 
pelling,  Eleanor's  pride  only  added  to  Crawford's  desire 
and  he  did  not  believe  that  she  was  honestly  expressing  her 
feelings  until  she  added,  "We  have  been  very  good  friends, 
but  hardly  intimate  enough  to  warrant  it." 

"Perhaps  I  have  been  too  impatient.  Should  I  have 
waited?  I  thought  you  knew,"  he  muttered  dully;  resent 
ment  surged  through  him  and  he  was  torn  by  conflicting 
emotions.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  there  is  no  hope — 
won't  you  marry  me?  Don't  you  care  for  me?" 

Eleanor  smiled  derisively  and  the  color  flew  to  Crawford's 
face. 


136  RETURN.  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"My  dear  man,  don't  look  so  tragic.  You  are  absurd. 
1  have  had  to  listen  to  some  foolish  speeches  but  really  there 
were  none  so  unpleasant — so  funny  as  yours." 

No  man  could  mistake  her  meaning  unless  he  was  blind 
and  deaf,  for  her  face  and  voice  told  her  displeasure  and, 
for  the  first  time,  Crawford  felt  really  abashed  and  ex 
perienced  misgiving.  But  his  unruly  temper  overcame  his 
nervousness.  She  had  not  only  refused  to  listen  to  him. 
but  ridiculed  him.  He  towered  over  her,  his  handsome  face 
dark  with  wounded  self-esteem  and  words  effervesced — mad 
words,  always  to  be  regretted. 

She  eyed  him  as  he  advanced  upon  her  and  shivered  be 
fore  the  tirade,  uttered  quietly  in  the  concentrated  fury  of 
the  moment. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  are  afraid  of  me,"  he  finished. 

"Afraid  of  you!"  she  sneered.  "You  flatter  yourself 
if  you  think  I  fear  you.  I  am  only  ashamed  that  I  was  fool 
enough  to  listen  to  your  egotistical  ravings  and  to  have  un 
wittingly  given  you  a  chance  to  say  I  encouraged  your 
wicked  thoughts.  Anne  should  thank  heaven  for  getting 
away  from  you — you  conceited  cad." 

She  glared  at  him  with  angry  dislike,  and  Crawford's 
disappointment  and  anger  broke  from  his  control,  his  speech 
matching  hers  in  unpleasant  truths. 

"To  hell  with  your  fine  lady  airs  and  stilted  speeches," 
he  hissed.  "You  accepted  my  attentions,  knowing  I  was  a 
married  man — the  husband  of  your  friend,  and  yet  you  call 
yourself  a  good  woman :  why,  you  're  a — 

His  voice  broke  and  he  came  even  closer  with  out-stretched 
hands.  He  was  the  slave  of  his  powerful  emotions  and  the 
fire  of  momentary  insanity  made  him  want  to  kill  her. 

"Please  go  away,"  she  cried,  cowering  from  him  as  his 
arm  swung  toward  her.  "Don't  make  a  scene.  I  don't  want 
to  call—" 


WHEN  ¥01  PLA1   WITH  LOVE.  137 

But  he  had  her  in  his  arms,  kissing — kissing — kissing  her. 
He  stifled  her  cries  and  crushed  her  to  him  till  the  very  life 
seemed  driven  out  of  her  body. 

"Now,"  he  breathed,  his  face  close  to  hers  and  his  breath 
suffocating  her,  "When  you  play  with  the  next  man's  heart — 
when  you  play  with  love — remember  my  kisses.  I  have  held 
you  in  my  arms  and  all  the  hatred  you  may  feel  for  me  will 
not  take  away  the  memory  of  my  lips  against  yours." 

He  abruptly  loosened  his  hold  and  Eleanor  tottered  to 
ward  the  door.  Sue  was  ghastly  pale  but  tried  to  regain  her 
self-control,  for  little  Phil's  treble  voice  calling  her,  sounded 
loud  and  clear,  and  she  heard  him  coming  down  the  great 
staircase. 

"If  you  have  any  decency  at  all — if  you  are  not  utterly 
lacking  everything  that  is  manly,  go  before  my  son  comes." 

Crawford  slipped  past  her.  He  did  not  want  to  speak  to 
the  child  and  turned  his  head  when  Phil  ran  to  his  mother. 
The  dignified  footman,  on  duty  at  the  front  door,  looked 
after  the  departing  figure  with  derision,  for  Crawford's  face 
was  black  as  a  thunder  cloud  and  he  was  breathing  the  low, 
common  oaths  of  the  slums  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

The  blood  seemed  ready  to  burst  through  his  eyes  when 
he  walked  through  the  avenue,  startling  passers-by  with  his 
diabolical  expression,  until  the  cold  air  and  violent  walking 
brought  his  senses  back  and  he  grew  quieter  in  his  invectives. 
But  his  hands  shook  as  if  palsied ;  and  he  forgot  Eleanor 
and  the  end  of  his  cherished  desires  and  his  ra-ge  turned 
to  terror,  for  the  world  seemed  darker,  and  he  stumbled 
along  the  shadowy  street. 

But  the  warning  passed  and  he  called  a  cab  and  returned 
to  his  hotel. 

Although  Crawford  was  naturally  buoyant  and  could  usu 
ally  readjust  himself  under  misadventure,  his  vanity  con 
tinued  to  smart  and  his  heart  ached  with  a  painful  sense 
of  Eleanor's  heartlessness.  For  a  month  he  regaled  himself 


138  RETURN  OP1  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

with  New  York  dissipations  and  spent  his  days  and  nights 
with  boon  companions;  but  he  was  restless  and  dissatisfied. 

One  afternoon  he  was  standing  in  front  of  his  hotel. 
Equipages  of  all  kinds  flashed  by  and  by  a  strange  coinci 
dence,  the  Marquise  Tania,  enjoying  the  radiance  of  the 
early  winter  sunshine,  passed  him.  She  only  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  pale,  depressed  face  before  she  turned  to  the  man 
beside  her. 

"There  is  Crawford  now — standing  alone,  lighting  his 
cigar. ' ' 

She  leaned  forward,  ready  to  bow,  but  the  man  she  led 
into  dangerous  paths  did  not  see  her. 

"He  looks  sad.  Something — or  somebody — has  disturbed 
him." 

"You  find  him  useful,  Tania?  He  is  very  handsome.  Do 
not  let  your  warm  heart  lead  you  to  forget  your  oath.  Out 
laws  are  inexorable." 

' '  I  am  not  a  sentimentalist,  I  am  a  servant.  I  do  not  trust 
Crawford  but  I  find  him  useful.  He  dances  very  prettily  to 
the  soft  music  of  flattery,"  the  Marquise  said  grimly.  "He 
has  no  depth  and  but  one  love.  It  is  not  his  God,  nor  his 
contry,  nor  his  wife,  nor  a  Cause- — it  is  himself  whom  he 
adores,  and  I  understand  how  to  tell  him  how  irresistible 
he  is." 

She  smiled  cruelly  as  they  sped  down  the  avenue  and  the 
bearded  man  beside  her  patted  her  hand  but  did  not  speak. 

"It  is  best  we  do  not  meet  again,"  she  whispered  in  Rus 
sian.  ""We  shall  have  no  trouble  in  taking  the  notes  to 
France.  I  will  return  very  soon — I  may  leave  this  week.  I 
am  confident  that  fate  will  play  into  my  hands.  We  must  be 
patient,  dear  friend,  for  our  hopes  are  bound  to  be  realized. ' ' 

When  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  parting,  she  looked  as 
gay  as  a  dainty  French  fashion-plate,  but  her  fingers  were 
strong  as  steel  when  she  returned  the  grasp  of  the  thin  hand 
clasping  her  own. 


THE  RUSSIAN  THREW  HIMSELF  BACK 
AMONG  THE  CUSHIONS 


WHEN  YOU  PLAY  WITH  LOVE.  139 

The  Russian,  who  found  the  climate  of  America  more  to 
his  comfort  than  the  heated  atmosphere  of  Europe  where 
he  was  not  too  welcome,  bowed  and  returned  to  the  car. 
He  threw  himself  back  among  the  cushions  as  if  exhausted 
with  waiting — waiting,  but  a  subtle  fire  lighted  up  his 
features  and  the  fierce  flame  of  enthusiasm  unmistakably 
shone  in  his  eyes. 

The  Marquise  Tania  did  not  look  after  the  receding  car. 
Her  mind  was  crowded  with  conflicting  schemes  and  un 
formed  projects,  when  she  entered  her  hotel.  Going  up  in 
the  elevator,  she  entered  her  suite  on  the  second  floor  and 
impatiently  dismissed  her  maid.  The  primrose  tinted  walls, 
discreetly  touched  with  wood-brown,  and  hangings  of  silken 
velour,  were  a  delightful  setting  for  the  pale,  dark  woman 
whose  black  hair  and  glowing  eyes  did  not  need  warm.th  of 
coloring  to  set  off  her  beauty.  She  seated  herself  at  a  desk, 
smiling  as  if  at  a  friend,  at  a  huge  bunch  of  Russian  violets 
placed  on  the  shelf,  then  slowly  loosened  her  long  fur  coat 
and  sinuously  withdrew  her  arms  from  the  wide  sleeves.  She 
had  decided  to  write  to  Crawford  and  intuition  told  her 
that  he  would  be  eager  to  see  her — that  her  missive  would 
be  a  welcome  surprise. 

After  the  note  had  gone,  she  dressed  herself  carefully  and 
waited  for  his  coming.  Sitting  among  the  cushions  on  her 
couch,  with  a  gold-colored  gown  draped  around  her  and  her 
jet-black  hair  braided  closely  around  her  small  head,  she 
looked  a  dainty,  alluring  picture  in  the  scented  atmosphere 
of  the  primrose  room. 

Her  note,  coming  to  Crawford  when  he  was  still  smarting 
from  the  blow  his  vanity  had  received,  filled  him  with  de 
lighted  surprise.  His  nostrils  expanded  and  he  nervously 
decided  to  go  to  her  at  once.  Painful  memories  were  odious 
to  him  and  he  frankly  fled  from  them.  He  knew  Tania  to 
be  entertaining  and  stimulating,  and  he  was  suave  and  dig 
nified  when  he  entered  her  rooms. 


140 

' '  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you,  Hugh, ' '  she  said  after  their 
greeting,  and  she  flashed  her  brilliant  eyes.  "I  suppose  you 
are  so  courted  by  your  American  friends  that  you  will  not 
have  much  time  for  Tania." 

•  "I  have  nothing  on  for  to-night.  Will  you  have  dinner 
with  me — at  Martin's?"  He  looked  at  her  with  immense 
satisfaction.  "Then  you  can  explain  the  charming  surprise 
of  your  presence  in  America — so  far  away  from  your  be 
loved  Paris." 

"Mon  beau  Hugh,"  she  sat  close  to  him  with  affectionate 
familiarity,  resting  her  hand  on  his  arm,  ' '  I  have  an  engage 
ment.  I  promised — but  I  will  send  regrets.  I  would  much 
rather  be  with  you  than  anyone.  You  have  the  great  gift — 
the  great  power  of  persuasion." 

Her  voice  was  as  soothing  as  a  caress  to  Crawford's  in 
jured  vanity,  her  red  lips  parted  in  a  ravishing  smile  and 
he  felt  more  sure  than  ever  that  this  lovely  woman  really 
appreciated  him.  He  noticed  that  her  hair  curled  in  little 
tendrils  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  remembered  that  Anne's 
did  the  same,  and  a  sudden  memory  of  his  wife's  face  re 
flecting  her  soul's  agony  flashed  across  his  brain. 

Tania,  conscious  of  his  distraction,  determined  to  find  out 
what  was  troubling  him.  She  had  made  a  study  of  human 
nature  and  bethought  herself  that  something  very  serious 
must  have  disturbed  him.  Knowing  his  chameleon-like  nature 
she  artfully  led  his  thoughts  into  bright  channels  and  grad 
ually  Crawford  commenced  to  be  comforted  by  the  flattering 
gladness  of  her  smiles;  her  cheerfulness  soothed  his  nerves 
and  spirits,  and  his  wounded  self-esteem  responded  to  her 
cunning  artfulness. 

For  dinner  they  went  to  the  celebrated  French  restaurant. 
The  soft  reflection  of  the  shaded  lights  mellowed  everything 
and  the  Marquise  Tania  looked  like  a  delicate  miniature  in 
the  rose-tinted  rays.  She  was  voluble  and  appeared  ingon- 


WHEN  YOU  PLAY  WITH  LOVE.  141 

nous  when  she  seated  herself  opposite  Crawford  and  gazed 
at  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"Ah,  it  is  so  good  to  be  with  you,"  she  exclaimed  ani 
matedly,  "and  how  fortunate  that  I  saw  you  on  the  street. 
I  feared  you  were  still  in  Washington. ' ' 

"It  certainly  was  fortunate  for  me,"  Crawford  replied. 
"Mrs.  Crawford  is  still  in  "Washington." 

For  some  inexplicable  reason  he  did  not  want  Tania  to 
know  of  his  domestic  affairs.  In  fact  he  did  not  intend 
to  tell  anyone  of  his  separation  from  Anne,  and  already  this 
strange  man  found  himself  wondering  if  she  would  ever 
forgive  him  but  the  attentive  waiter  was  bringing  cocktails 
and  his  thoughts  swung  back  to  surroundings. 

He  was  not  ill-pleased  with  the  attention  he  and  Tania  ex 
cited  while  they  sat  at  the  table  decked  with  La  France  roses, 
and  he  disclosed  his  fine  teeth  in  a  smile  when  the  Marquise, 
clasping  the  bowl  of  the  glass  with  both  beringed  hands, 
bowed  in  mock  ceremony  to  him. 

"This  is  ravissante,  mon  cher,"  she  murmured  vivaciously. 
"I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  more  charming  place  to  dine, 
in  all  this  great  America." 

She  continued  to  smile  and  sparkle,  her  large  hypnotic 
eyes  resting  steadily  on  Crawford  while  he  watched  the 
waiter  draw  the  cork  from  the  napkin-wrapped  bottle,  fill 
the  glasses,  and  replace  it  in  the  champagne  cooler. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  said.  "When  did  you  come 
over?" 

Crawford's  question  was  not  unexpected  and  she  leaned 
toward  him. 

"I  sailed  very  soon  after  you — most  unexpectedly.  I  was 
tired  and  ill,  so  my  physician  ordered  the  ocean  voyage,  and 
I  am  going  to  return  in  a  few  days.  I  really  was  'all  run 
down'  as  you  Americans  say,  but  the  sea  air  has  restored 
me." 


142  RETURN  OF  HUGE  CRAWFORD 

"You  look  remarkably  healthy  for  a  sick  woman.  I  have 
never  seen  you  look  better." 

"Ah,  you  always  are  so  amiable,"  she  responded  airily. 
"I  have  wonderful  powers  of  recuperation.  I  receive  no 
sympathy.  Even  when  I  am  ill  I  have  the  appearance  of 
the  health  impertinent." 

Although  she  wanted  to  ask  questions,  and  was  inquisitive 
about  the  beautiful  widow  Crawford  had  escorted  to  Amer 
ica,  she  branched  off  into  amusing  stories  of  places  and 
acquaintances.  She  noticed  that  his  glances  were  straying 
among  the  people  around  them  and  thought,  "He  ignores 
his  little  wife  and  some  day  he  may  need  her  and  her  wealth 
and  influence;  but  will  she  forget?  I  think  not,"  but  she 
kept  her  ideas  discreetly  to  herself.  Lifting  her  glass  she 
exclaimed  charmingly,  "Hugh!  To  your  happiness!" 

"Then  you  will  drink  to  our  many  future  meetings.  I 
too  am  going  back  to  France."  He  gave  her  a  peculiar  look, 
the  newly-recovered  contentment  showing  in  his  manner. 
"When  did  you  say  you  were  to  sail?" 

She  mentioned  a  steamer  leaving  within  the  week  and 
Crawford  promised  to  accompany  her  if  he  could  secure 
passage. 

"I  need  cheerfulness  and  she's  such  a  good  sort — really 
fond  of  me,  and  she  is  a  sympathetic  creature,"  he  thought. 
Aloud  he  asked,  "What,  no  more  wine — and  no  Kummel?" 

' '  No,  nothing  more !  It  has  been  perfect.  You  are  always 
a  princely  host." 

"It  is  early  yet — let  us  go  somewhere.  We  may  find  some 
thing  amusing." 

They  found  a  box  at  Hammerstein 's  and  in  the  noise  of 
the  orchestra  and  stage,  depression  again  seized  Hugh  Craw 
ford.  He  did  not  think  of  Eleanor,  but  his  wife's  grave  face 
seemed  to  haunt  him  and  the  impulse  to  beg  her  forgiveness 
was  irresistible. 

When  he  left  the  Marquise  at  her  hotel,  he  dismissed  the 


WHEN  YOU  PLAY  WITH  LOVE.  143 

car  and  walked  along  the  streets,  glad  to  be  alone.  When  in 
his  rooms  he  told  Saunders  to  bring  brandy  and  soda  and 
go  to  bed,  and  drawing  a  chair  to  his  writing  table,  started 
a  letter  to  Anne.  He  destroyed  page  after  page.  He  was 
guiltily  conscious  of  his  wrong-doing  but  he  did  not  doubt 
her  clemency.  "Of  course  I  acted  shamefully — there's  no 
getting  around  the  fact.  I  don 't  pretend  that  I  was  justified 
in  speaking  as  I  did  and  I  won't  try  to  see  her  before  I  sail, 
but  she  '11  be  glad  to  get  my  apology. ' '  He  felt  more  satisfied 
when  he  had  written, 

''My  dear  wife: 

"I  want  you  to  forgive  me.  I  am  leaving  New  York  in  a 
few  days  and  will  return  to  our  home  in  Paris  where  I  will 
await  your  letter.  With  my  whole  soul  I  crave  your  pardon 
for  my  unkind  and  bitter  words,  Anne — there  is  no  one  else — 
there  is  no  thought  of  another  woman  taking  your  place  as 
my  wife  and  I  ask — implore  you  to  forget  my  words. 

''My  excuse  is  as  old  as  the  hills  but  it  is  all  I  have  to 
offer.  My  nerves  have  been  shattered  by  anxiety  about  my 
eyes  and  'when  the  wine  is  in,  the  wit  is  out.' 

"Forgive  me,  Anne. 

Your  repentant 

Hugh." 

When  the  letter  reached  Anne,  she  immediately  recognized 
Crawford's  handwriting.  She  locked  the  door  of  her  rooms 
and  for  a  long  time  sat  at  her  desk,  debating  whether  or  not 
to  open  it.  Her  pulses  beat  feverishly,  for  it  was  possible 
that  he  had  written  something  to  wound  her  afresh.  She 
could  not  think  why  he  should  write  at  all,  and  hatred,  all  the 
more  bitter  for  its  impotency,  rankled  in  her  breast. 

.  But  curiosity  overcame  her  and  she  did  venture  to  open 
the  letter. 

Her  eyes  blazed  and  her  cheeks  flamed  when  she  read  his 


144  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

words  and  she  cried:  "He  thinks  he  can  whistle  me  back. 
He  wanted  the  divorce  and  something — or  somebody — has 
made  him  change  his  mind,  but  I  will  never  forgive  him. 
He  shamed  me.  He  insulted  me  and  I  hate  him — I  hate 
him." 

Unlocking  a  secret  drawer  in  her  desk  she  slipped  the 
letter  beside  the  locket  Hugh  Crawford  had  given  her  on 
the  .Christmas  night  of  their  betrothal,  and  like  a  drunken 
woman  she  tremblingly  shut  them  out  of  sight  and  stag 
gered  across  the  floor  to  her  bedroom.  She  tried  to  reach 
her  bed,  but  fell  short,  and  dropped  like  a  suppliant  to  her 
knees,  her  hands  covering  her  face  while  she  prayed,  "Dear 
God,  comfort  me!  Comfort  me!" 


Hugh  Crawford  sailed  for  Prance,  apparently  as  light- 
hearted  as  ever  and  seemed  devoted  to  a  lady  whose  name 
appeared  on  the  passenger  list  as  Madame  Tania  Cherimiski. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
I  Want  To  Be  Free. 


145 


CHAPTER  XI. 

I  WANT  To  BE  FREE. 

Anne  had  been  truly  unhappy  on  account  of  Crawford, 
who  had  an  almost  limitless  power  of  hurting  her.  Her  love 
for  him  had  been  interwoven  with  her  life  and  was  as  pain 
ful  to  break  as  a  habit,  but  pride  came  to  her  rescue  and 
she  fought  desperately  against  becoming  demoralized.  She 
recalled  the  months  of  humiliation  and  disappointment  fol 
lowing  her  marriage  and  hoped  and  prayed  that  she  would 
never  see  him  again. 

There  was  one  thing  she  was  thankful  forj  he  did  not 
insist  on  the  divorce,  for  Anne  had  a  dread  of  gossip  and 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  the  privacy  of  her  life  being 
left  to  the  mercy  of  the  press — the  dreadful  notoriety  and 
days  of  terror  while  the  decree  pended — and  the  vulgarity 
of  it  all.  But  when  she  re-read  his  letter  pleading  for  a 
reconciliation  it  did  not  soften  her.  She  remembered  his 
threat  of  holding  her  up  to  the  contempt  of  her  friends  and 
determined  to  make  him  regret  his  monstrous  cruelty. 

Only  pride  kept  her  from  returning  to  La  Conner,  but 
she  wrote  a  long,  penitent  letter  to  her  aunt  Hamilton,  im 
ploring  her  to  come  to  Washington,  and  about  two  weeks 
after  Crawford's  unhappy  visit  to  his  wife,  Miss  Hamilton 
descended  from  the  steps  of  a  western  train. 

Anne  motored  to  the  station  in  a  glistening  new  car  she 
had  just  bought,  and  had  been  waiting  for  half  an  hour 
when  the  train  arrived.  She  saw  Miss  Hamilton  stop  and 
look  around,  nervously  moving  with  the  crowd,  and  her 
heart  swelled  with  pride  and  joy  in  her  beloved  kinswoman. 
How  could  she  have  had  the  courage  to  wound  that  loving 
heart  and  leave  the  tender  protection  of  the  only  mother 

147 


148  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

she  had  ever  known.  Their  eyes  met,  and,  with  a  wild 
rush,  Anne  was  in  the  outstretched  arms.  The  two  women 
stood  clasped  in  a  passionate  embrace,  whispering  and  sob 
bing  fond  and  foolish  words  of  endearment — oblivious  of 
the  crowd. 

' '  My  little  girl !    I  am  so  thankful  to  see  you  again. ' ' 

"And,  oh  auntie,  I've  needed  you  so  badly.  I  will  never 
leave  you  again.  I'm  so  glad  to  see  your  dear  face,"  Anne 
cried,  smiling  through  happy  tears  and  delighting  in  Miss 
Hamilton's  beaming  countenance.  She  handed  her  aunt's 
bag  to  the  chauffeur,  and  as  the  man  passed  ahead,  she 
followed  slowly,  hanging  childishly  to  her  aunt. 

Dora  was  waiting  to  meet  Miss  Hamilton  when  she  en 
tered  the  house  and  the  two  women  who  loved  Anne  Craw 
ford  shook  hands  and  kissed  each  other  warmly,  to  the 
scandalized  amazement  of  the  footmen  in  the  hall.  Only 
one  who  has  had  the  experience  of  retaining  old  servants 
can  understand  the  pride  and  affection  in  Dora's  heart  when 
Miss  Hamilton  greeted  her  with  such  spontaneous  love. 

"Come  up  to  your  rooms,  dear,"  Anne  said  gayly,  leading 
the  way,  and  her  aunt  followed  with  deliberate  steps.  The 
suite  prepared  for  her  was  very  cheerful  and  Miss  Hamilton 
noted  the  beauty,  harmony  and  comfort — the  look  of  home- 
ness  in  the  house — the  luxury  without  a  show  of  expensive- 
ness,  and  with  a  mental  compliment  to  Anne's  good  taste, 
started  to  speak. 

But  her  words  froze  on  her  lips  'when  her  eyes  fell  on  a 
ferocious-looking,  tawny  animal,  switching  its  tail  and  open 
ing  a  dreadful  mouth. 

Anne's  glance  traveled  from  her  aunt  to  the  door  where 
Fifi  stood  guard.  "Oh,  auntie,"  she  laughed,  "don't  be 
frightened.  It's  only  my  little  dog.  She  isn't  cross." 

"Little  dog!  Send  it  away,  child,"  gasped  the  nervous 
woman.  "Where  in  Sam  Hill  did  you  ever  get  that,  Anne?" 

"She  was  one  of  my  wedding  presents." 


I  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  149 

Fifi  was  banished  and  half  an  hour  later  Miss  Hamilton, 
resting  in  a  big  chair  before  a  cheery  fire,  was  sipping  a  cup 
of  tea.  She  lost  no  time  in  asking  questions  and  did  not 
pretend  to  be  surprised  at  Crawford's  absence,  but  she  was 
alarmed  at  the  pallor,  the  heavy-lidded  eyes,  and  the  weari 
ness  in  Anne's  face. 

"You'll  always  be  a  little  girl  to  me,  dear,"  she  said, 
tenderly  squeezing  Anne's  thin  hand.  "You  must  tell  me 
all  your  troubles.  You  look  as  though  you  had  been  through 
a  severe  illness,  but  I'm  here  now  and  going  to  take  care 
of  you." 

Anne  flushed  and  restrained  the  impulse  to  cry. 

"Everything  has  been  wrong,  auntie,  but  I  still  have  you, 
and  we  are  going  to  be  happy  together." 

"After  all,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  come  home  without 
Hugh."  Miss  Hamilton  looked  solemn.  "People  will  gos 
sip  if  they  get  a  chance  and  no  one  in  La  Conner  imagines 
there  is  any  trouble  between  you,  but  I  suspected  something 
was  wrong.  Why,  even  your  letter  telling  of  your  marriage 
worried  me." 

Her  manner  was  encouraging,  but  still  Anne  did  not  con 
fide. 

"Tell  me  what  is  the  matter,"  pleaded  Miss  Hamilton. 
"I  know  you  are  in  the  right.  I  never  liked  Hugh." 

"No,  dear,"  Anne  replied  at  last,  "you  never  liked  him, 
but  I  always  loved  him,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  you  every 
thing — right  from  the  beginning. ' ' 

She  impulsively  threw  herself  on  the  arm  of  her  aunt's 
chair,  resting  her  head  on  the  beloved  broad  shoulder.  She 
told  all  her  misery — told  of  Crawford's  letters  which  she 
had  foolishly  construed  into  pleadings  for  a  marriage — told 
of  meeting  him  at  the  rooms  in  London — told  of  his  fickle 
ness  and  her  own  jealousy.  She  did  not  spare  him,  nor  did 
she  spare  herself. 

The  deadly  hatred  in  the  heart  of  Miss  Mary  Hamilton 


150  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

of  La  Connor  was  very  like  the  bitterness  in  the  hearts  of 
her  loyal  ancestors,  who  had  not  stopped  at  murder  and 
bloodshed  to  avenge  wrong  to  their  loved  ones.  Her  brow 
was  stormy  and  there  was  a  hard  glitter  in  the  sweet  elderlr 
eyes.  She  was  undergoing  a  change  of  heart.  She  was 
regarding  with  toleration  the  sundering  of  marriage  ties 
and  she  felt  suddenly  convinced  that  there  were  times  Avhen 
divorce  was  justifiable. 

It  Avas  deplorable,  of  course,  but  she  knew  Anne,  and 
she  knew  Hugh,  and  it  Avas  better  to  sunder  bonds  than  to 
break  hearts.  But  she  did  not  speak  of  the  Avonderful 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  her  sentiments. 

"It  is  much  AA'orse  than  I  thought.  It  is  a  great  shock  to 
me,  dear,  but  you  must  not  alloAv  a  man  to  make  a  mess  of 
your  life,"  she  declared  grimly.  "Let  us  forget  Hugh  for 
awhile.  You  will  have  all  you  can  do  to  keep  me  from 
being  homesick — for  I  suppose  I  am  to  live  in  Washington 
for  awhile.  You  appear  prepared  to  settle  here." 

Anne  threw  her  arm  around  her  aunt's  neck,  and  with  a 
quiver  in  her  voice  promised,  "We'll  have  no  more  past 
history  or  heroics.  I  am  going  to  introduce  you  to  gay 
people,  Paris  gowns  and  beautiful  life.  We'll  forget  the 
gloom  and  be  happy." 

"At  my  time  of  life  I  may  not  appreciate  the  'high  life' 
you  speak  of,  but  seriously,  Anne — I  want  some  more  hot 
tea.  I  suppose  I  may  have  two  cups — even  in  Washington." 

With  a  happy  laugh  Anne  jumped  to  her  feet  and  turned 
on  the  electricity  and  soon  the  water  Avas  boiling  in  the  tiny 
kettle.  "It  is  natural  to  have  you  order  me  around,  auntie," 
she  exclaimed.  "I  haven't  been  so  happy  for  months." 


Anne  Grawford  felt  a  restlessness  and  recklessness  dom 
inating  her.  A  new  personality  seemed  to  have  developed 
in  her  and  she  looked  at  life  from  an  entirely  different  vieAv- 


/  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  151 

point,  while  she  made  a  brave  effort  to  gather  together  the 
tangled  lines  of  her  life. 

She  sighed  when  she  saw  her  reflection  in  the  mirror  and 
found  herself  unattractive  and  homely.  She  longed  to  be 
beautiful  and  to  bring  men  to  her  feet  in  admiration  of  her 
physical  charms  and  commenced  to  study  herself.  She 
knew  her  good  points  and  took  care  of  her  splendid  hair 
and  teeth,  nourished  her  skin,  and  after  a  few  months  of 
intelligent  treatment,  viewed  herself  with  critical  eyes. 
With  a  few  blushes  at  her  vanity,  she  admitted  to  herself 
that  she  did  look  more  alluring — that  her  experiments  had 
turned  out  well. 

Before  her  rupture  with  Crawford  she  would  have  con 
sidered  such  desires  unworthy  and  foolish,  but  his  insulting 
mention  of  her  lack  of  pulchritude  made  her  long  to  triumph 
over  her  plainness. 

"I  look  altogether  Spanish — I  must  remember  that,"  she 
soliloquized,  drawing  her  dusky  hair  loosely  over  her  ears 
and,  catching  the  long  ends  up  in  a  coil  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  she  fastened  the  silken  mass  Avith  a  huge,  old-fash 
ioned  comb  which  had  belonged  to  her  great-great-grand 
mother.  "I'm  thin,  but  I  look  much  better  and  I'm  not 
going  to  worry.  I've  made  a  new  start." 

Time  did  not  drag,  and  during  the  years  that  followed 
many  exciting  incidents  happened.  Anne  entertained  gen 
erously,  and  she  and  her  aunt  were  cordially  received  into 
the  most  exclusive  and  splendid  houses,  dancing  in  and  out 
of  the  palaces  of  pleasure  until  Miss  Hamilton  was  tired  to 
death.  Never  had  the  rich  spinster  owned  so  many  clothes  at 
one  time,  or  spent  money  so  lavishly.  She  was  a  very  wealthy 
woman  and  could  have  afforded  herself  every  extravagance, 
"but  her  Scotch  blood  and  New  England  training  forbade 
prodigality,  while  her  Presbyterian  conscience  troubled  her 
for  being  too  lenient  to  "the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil," 
and  gave  her  many  sharp  twinges. 


152 

It  annoyed  her  to  see  how  flippant  Anne  was  with  the 
train  of  admirers — hangers-on  such  as  are  found  in  the  wake 
of  any  rich  woman  in  society.  Floyd  Charteris,  a  fine  look 
ing  fellow,  younger  than  Anne,  was  the  young  matron 's  con 
stant  shadow,  and  Anne  did  flirt  outrageously.  After  dis 
covering  that  she  could  arouse  attention  and  admiration,  she 
allowed  herself  too  much  liberty.  She  did  not  believe  that 
any  of  her  adorers  paid  court  to  her  money  and  supposed 
it  was  solely  her  personal  charm,  which  fascinated,  and  she 
drifted  into  foolish  self-complacency. 

But  Miss  Hamilton's  plain  English  awakened  her  from 
her  pleasant  lethargy  and  saved  her  from  a  rude  (and 
expensive)  awakening. 

It  was  just  before  the  Christmas  holidays  and  their  time 
was  crowded  with  engagements  and  Anne  was  skimming 
over  the  bogs  of  festivity  and  frivolity  with  thoughtless 
speed.  She  had  given  a  dinner  dance,  and  it  would  be  un 
wise  to  attempt  to  paint  a  word-picture  of  the  brilliant, 
bewildering  carousal. 

It  had  been  a  social  success,  and  Miss  Hamilton,  while 
impatiently  waiting  for  Anne  to  come  and  kiss  her  good 
night,  was  picturing  the  difference  between  the  peaceful 
mansion  in  La  Conner  and  this  lovely  little  home  which 
seemed  almost  pagan  in  its  riotous  gayety.  Because  of  war 
ring  sentiments  she  felt  caustic  and  dismissed  her  maid  from 
the  room  when  Anne  at  last  came  to  her. 

She  looked  critically  at  the  slender  figure  of  her  niece 
and  had  to  admit  that  Anne's-  pale  face  was  very  attractive, 
while  the  shimmering,  sea-green  chiffon,  ultra-fashionable 
gown  was  startlingly  becoming  to  the  young,  black-haired 
woman  with  the  burning  eyes  and  red,  red  mouth. 

"It's  no  wonder  men  run  after  her.  Who  Avould  have 
believed  she  would  have  developed  into  such  a  magnificent 
creature,"  the  good  woman  thought.  "She's  not  pretty- 
but  she  is  lovely  and  lovable.  If  she  were  as  happy  as  she 


/  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  153 

is  gay  and  attractive,  she'd  be  the  most  envjgd  woman  in 
Washington.  It's  astonishing — amazing,  how  she  has 
changed. ' ' 

Her  thoughts  were  routed  by  Anne. 

' '  Well,  auntie — we  're  living ! ' '  She  flung  herself  into  a 
chair  and  her  aunt  recognized  a  subtle  change  of  manner; 
no  lack  of  tenderness,  but  a  defiant  independence  and  energy 
that  suggested  vigorous  maturity  of  purpose.  "We're  hav 
ing  a  good  time,"  she  continued.  "I  danced  every  dance — 
even  the  maxixe." 

She  yawned  lazily. 

"Go  to  bed,  child,  you're  sleepy,"  Miss  Hamilton  said 
severely.  "Your  party  was  a  crush  and  I'm  glad  it's  over. 
Thank  the  Lord  I  don't  know  how  to  dance,  Anne.  I  never 
dreamed  that  sane  people  would  caper  as  did  our  guests 
to-night  at  your  'Tango.'  It  was  worse  than  usual,  and  I 
don't  approve  of  that  sort  of  thing.  I  can't  get  used  to 
girlish  grandmothers  and  church  members — even  bald- 
headed  old  sinners  who  should  be  saying  their  prayers  and 
preparing  for  heaven — cutting  up  like  youngsters  and 
prancing  like  young  colts." 

Anne  screamed  with  delight.  Hugh  Crawford,  ruining 
his  health  and  hopes  in  European  capitals,- would  have  been 
shocked  to  see  the  gay  insouciance  of  the  wife  he  thought 
was  breaking  her  heart  for  him. 

"Yes,  it's  different  from  La  Conner,  auntie,  but  I  like  the 
gay  whirl.  Everything  depends  on  viewpoint.  I  used  to 
quarrel  with  Hugh — be  horrified  with  things  I  don't  notice 
at  all  now,  and  I  don't  believe  I  am  any  the  worse  for  being 
broad-minded." 

"Broad-mindedness  seems  to  cover  a  great  deal  of  lax 
ity.  ' '  Miss  Hamilton  looked  very  austere  while  she  declared 
her  opinions.  "I  am  not  narrow,  I  hope,  but  I  think  you 
were  better  and  happier  before  you  married  and  grew 
worldly.  And  Anne — you  are  wrong  to  allow  a  lot  of  men 


154  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

you  don't  care  about  to  dangle  after  you.  It  doesn't  seem 
respectable,"  she  blurted  out,  "and  that  boy  Charteris — 
you  encourage  him  particularly.  He's  younger  than  you 
are  and  it's  not  right  to  play  with  a  man's  feelings." 

"A  little  experience  doesn't  hurt  anyone,  darling,"  Anne 
answered  lightly.  "He's  a  dear  boy.  I'm  really  fond  of 
him.  He's  at  the  romantic  age." 

"Don't  flatter  yourself  too  much,  my  dear."  Miss  Ham 
ilton's  eyes  twinkled.  "He's  not  too  romantic  to  run  after 
a  rich  woman." 

"Oh,  you  would  hate  any  man  I  was  fond  of,"  chuckled 
Anne,  but  she  looked  peculiar  and  nervous  and,  rising  from 
her  chair,  crossed  to  her  aunt.  "Charteris  wants  me  to 
marry  him." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Miss  Hamilton's  face. 

"I  told  him  I  would — if  you  would  consent." 

"Anne!    You  are  a  married  woman!" 

"Of  course,  I  would  have  to  obtain  a  divorce  and  we 
would  not  be  married  for  ages  and — 

' '  My  dear !  My  dear ! ' '  Miss  Hamilton  cried.  ' '  You  must 
be  mad  to  even  speak  of  linking  your  life  with  that  boy's. 
You  can't  be  serious  and  I  hope  you  won't  forget  your 
husband  to  the  extent  of  thinking  of  marrying  that  young 
puppy.  Hugh  doesn't  bother  you.  You  are  not  a  young 
girl  running  into  misery  with  her  eyes  blinded."  She  rose 
heavily  to  her  feet.  "Anne,  sometimes  I  feel  that  I  am  a 
failure — that  I  have  no  influence  over  you,  for  you  have 
always  carried  me  along  with  your  impetuosity,  but  I  will 
positively  oppose  this  crazy  notion.  Now  I've  listened  to 
your  remarkable  news,  and  I'm  going  to  forget  it.  Good 
night,  my  dear,  and  when  you  say  your  prayers,  ask  for  a 
little  common  sense." 

"Now,  you  are  angry  with  me,  dear,  but  don't  think  I 
would  go  against  your  wishes.  I'm  never  going  to  risk 
losing  you." 


/  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  155 

Anne  swept  into  the  hall,  her  eyes  gleaming  feverishly 
as  she  went  to  her  own  rooms. 

When  she  had  gone,  Miss  Hamilton  stared  stupidly  at  the 
door  which  Anne  had  softly  closed  after  her.  Hot  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks  and  she  opened  and  shut  her  hands,  trying 
to  control  her  nerves,  and  sank  to  her  knees.  Throwing  her 
arms  across  the  chair  and  burying  her  face  in  the  cushions, 
she  cried  unceasingly  until  the  tempest  of  her  grief  was 
checked,  and  with  a  resolute  movement  she  threw  back  her 
head.  She  knew  where  to  find  comfort. 

She  silently  prayed  for  a  few  moments  and  a  hopeful 
light  spread  over  the  tired,  wrinkled  face,  then  she  labori 
ously  rose  to  her  feet,  and  when  her  maid  tapped  at  her 
door  she  cried  in  her  usual,  energetic  tones :  ' '  Come  in  and 
undress  me  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  take  my  hair  off  at 
once — it  makes  my  head  ache.',' 

The  girl's  fingers  carefully  loosened  and  removed  the  gray 

coiffure  that  looked  so  natural  and  becoming. 

#*##*####* 

For  hours  Anne  sat  thinking  in  her  beautiful,  high-ceil- 
inged  bedroom.  In  her  present  mood  the  harmony  of  the 
perfect  furnishings  and  soft-toned  decorations  soothed  her, 
and  she  quietly  digested  the  few  stern  but  wise  words  her 
aunt  had  expressed.  She  did  not  pretend  to  love  Charteris, 
but  she  liked  him  and  she  could  not  still  the  passion  of  lone 
liness  that  possessed  her ;  the  hunger  for  happiness  and  the 
tempestuous  longing  for  the  love  she  had  missed.  She 
swayed  under  the  dominion  of  her  feelings,  almost  fright 
ened  by  the  poignant  desire  that  assailed  her  to  have  the 
life  she  craved — the  love — the  home — children. 

"Hugh  loved  me  when  we  were  in  La  Conner,  but  his  love 
died.  He  accepted  all  I  had  to  give,  but  gave  me  nothing 
in  return.  Perhaps  if  I  had  children — " 

Thoughts  crowded  upon  her.  She  remembered  her  hus 
band's  caresses,  and  memories  she  had  tried  to  forget 


156  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

awakened  riotously  and  her  heart  sank  in  despair.  She 
hated  Hugh,  but  he  had  been  her  husband;  he  was  her 
husband. 

She  decided  that  when  morning  came  she  would  send  for 
Charteris  and  tell  him  the  truth.  Feeling  as  she  did,  there 
was  no  possibility  of  divorce  or  new  marriage  ties,  and, 
having  decided,  she  was  conscious  of  devout  thankfulness 
that  she  had  not  allowed  him  to  kiss  her.  "I  will  not  always 
be  lonely,"  she  thought.  "There  must  be  other  things  be 
sides  love  that  bring  contentment  and  peace — but  I  don't 
know  where  to  find  them." 

After  a  brief  sleep  she  awakened  to  a  sense  of  well-being, 
and  when  the  events  of  the  preceding  night  passed  before 
her,  the  wine,  the  music,  the  dancing,  Charteris '  impassioned 
wooing  and  her  aunt's  advice,  seemed  like  a  dream. 

"I've  telephoned  Mr.  Charteris,  auntie,"  she  whispered 
when  she  met  Miss  Hamilton  in  the  breakfast  room.  "I 
want  to  see  him  and  get  it  over. ' ' 

"So  the  night  brought  wisdom,  as  our  French  friends 
believe  it  does.  I  am  very  thankful,  dear.  You  are  not 
suited  to  each  other." 

"I'm  sorry  it  grew  so  serious,  aunt,"  Anne  confessed. 
"There,  is  no  use  in  pretending  and  I  do  like  him  rather 
well.  I'll  be  sorry  to  lose  my  friend." 

"If  Charteris  loves  you  you  will  not  lose  his  friendship," 
Miss  Hamilton  declared.  "He  is  only  a  boy,  but  he  is  no 
fool." 

"If,"  mimicked  Anne.  "Auntie,  I  hate  that  insignificant 
'if.'  " 

They  drank  their  coffee  and  looked  through  their  letters, 
but  neither  had  much  appetite,  and  were  relieved  when 
Charteris'  card  was  brought  to  Anne. 

She  colored  and  tried  to  smile,  gathering  up  the  trailing 
skirt  of  her  breakfast-gown  and  hastily  walking  to  the  re- 


/  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  157 

ccption  room.     When  she  entered,  Charteris  came  rapidly 
toward  her. 

He  looked  very  young  in  a  plain  business  suit  and  his 
rosy  face  and  ardent  eyes  gave  one  the  impression  of  affection 
and  good  temper. 

' '  Has  anything  happened  ? "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  Gad,  but  you 
do  look  sweet." 

Anne  stepped  behind  a  chair.  Suddenly  she  felt  years 
older  and  ashamed  of  this  boy's  admiration. 

"Please  don't  come  near  me,"  she  said  deprecatingly. 
"No — nothing  is  the  matter  except  that  I  want  you  to  know 
that  I  was  not  serious  last  night — I  do  not  want  you  to  think 
that  I  intend  to  re-marry — I  want  to  be  honest  with  you." 

She  flushed  furiously.  The  whole  affair  seemed  horribly 
silly  and  improper. 

Charteris  stood  as  if  made  of  stone.  His  air  castles  were 
tumbling  around  him  and  something  told  him  that  his  dream 
of  love,  and  life,  and  luxury,  with  this  charming  woman 
to  pay  the  bills,  was  over — never  to  be,  and  the  rude  awaken 
ing  almost  made  him  ill. 

Anne's  feelings  were  too  complex  to  be  analyzed,  but  the 
keenest  of  them  was  a  sense  of  thankfulness  that  she  had  ex 
tricated  herself  from  a  difficult  position — and  from  doubt. 
She  saw  no  grief,  no  love — only  anger  and  chagrin  in  the 
youthful  face  before  her.  Her  temper  rose  and  she  bit  her 
lips  in  fierce  anger  while  a  flush  painted  her  face  from  neck 
to  brow.  Her  aunt  had  again  been  right.  "If  he  loves 
you,"  she  had  said.  Why,  Charteris  didn't  love  her  at  all. 
His  expression  told  her  that,  but  he  was  speaking  and  she 
heard  him  say. 

"I  will  not  give  you  up.  You  cannot  play  fast  and  loose 
with  me." 

"Don't  speak  absurdly,  Mr.  Charteris,"  she  returned 
"You  cannot  give  up  what  you  never  possessed." 


158  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

He  was  slow  in  answering  but  the  sneer  on  his  lips  alarmed 
her  and  his  words  fell  like  fire,  scorching  her  with  shame. 

"You  have  accepted  my  undivided  attentions — led  me  to 
suppose  that  you  cared  for  me — allowed  our  names  to  be 
associated  together  without  a  murmur — showed  me  unusual 
favor,  unless  you  expected  to  be  my  wife." 

Her  muscles  tightened  and  humiliation  seemed  to  steal 
the  very  breath  from  her,  while  her  pulses  leaped  until  she 
shook.  "I  confess  I  am  to  blame  for  misleading  you,  but 
you  exaggerate  the  importance  of  our  mistake,  do  you  not?" 

"No,  I  do  not.  You  know  it  is  the  truth.  There  must  be 
a  reason  you  have  not  mentioned." 

"I  am  a  married  woman." 

"But  I  will  wait." 

"There  is  nothing  to  wait  for.  I  do  not  love  you.  I  do 
admire  you  and  like  to  be  with  you,  but  I  don't  know  how  I 
could  have  imagined  that  anything  deeper  than  friendship 
could  exist  between  us." 

He  regarded  her  with  angry  eyes  and  cried,  "I  don't 
understand  you." 

"And  I  can't  explain,"  Anne  retorted  quickly,  trying  to 
speak  lightly  though  her  face  was  drawn,  ' '  I  am  a  mystery — 
even  to  myself." 

"Mystery  or  not,  you  can't  throw  me  aside  like  an  old 
glove."  His  lips  were  twitching  and  his  brows  met  in  a 
frown.  "You  are  a  very  clever  woman  and  quite  an  ex 
perienced  fencer." 

"Don't  let  us  quarrel,"  she  pleaded,  ignoring  the  taunt, 
for  she  blamed  herself.  "Let  us  be  friends,  and  Mr. 
Charteris,  I  said  I  could  not  consider  any  question  without 
my  aunt's  opinion."  A  desire  to  test  him  flashed  through 
her  mind  and  she  added  seriously,  "Suppose  I  were  to  tell 
you  that  my  aunt  is  wealthy — and  that  you  are  not  a  favorite 
with  her?  Are  you  prepared  financially  to  support  a  wife? 
Are  you  in  a  position  to  take  care  of  me?" 


/  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  159 

"1  have  my  income,"  Charteris  sputtered,  "but  [ 
thought—" 

''Surely  you  did  not  think  that  my  aunt's  money  would 
pay  your  wife's  expenses  or  that  you  could  live  in  idleness, 
and  take  life  easily  on  money  you  had  no  right  to — money 
you  did  not  earn." 

"But  your  husband — Mr.  Crawford — is  not  a  business 
man." 

"No!  Hugh  Crawford  is  not  a  business  man.  He  would 
be  happier  if  he  were,  but  he  happens  to  be  a  very  rich  man, 
not  a  parasite  living  on  a  woman's  bounty.  As  a  poor  man 
he  would  have  worked — been  ambitious — perhaps  celebrated, 
but  his  money  has  been  a  curse  to  him.  However,  my  hus 
band  is  not  under  discussion  and  your  mention  of  him  is  as 
preposterous  as  some  of  your  other  subjects." 

She  drew  back,  pale  and  shocked  at  the  insolence  in  the 
young  man's  face. 

"It  is  rumored  among  our  friends  that  your  husband  does 
not  feel  the  same  consideration  for  you,  that  you  express  for 
him."  He  laughed  angrily,  his  voice  vibrating  through  the 
rooms  to  Miss  Hamilton,  who  told  the  butler  to  have  Fifi  sent 
to  her.  "It  is  whispered  that  Mr.  Crawford  does  not  care  for 
his  wife,"  continued  Charteris,  "and  that  he  seeks  fairer 
shrines. ' ' 

He  bowed  stiffly  and  Anne  watched  him  leave  the  room. 
She  was  white  with  anger  and  a  tendril  of  her  beautiful 
black  hair  escaped  from  its  fastening  and  fell  on  her  white 
neck,  the  disorder  giving  her  a  picturesque  beauty  Charteris 
never  forgot.  Perhaps  the  heavy  dog  silently  entering  from 
the  rear  and  lying  crouched  beside  her  mistress,  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  his  hasty  retreat:  but  Anne,  all  unconscious 
of  her  protector,  listened  to  the  front  door  close  and  lay 
back  in  her  chair,  utterly  collapsed.  Her  heart  seemed  leap 
ing  from  her  bosom,  confusing  her,  until  she  felt  herself 


160  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

gradually  rising,  a  curious  sensation  of  floating  in  the  air, 
and  with  a  little  sob,  Anne  fainted. 

When  Miss  Hamilton  heard  Charteris  leave  the  house,  she 
went  to  Anne  and  when  she  saw  the  white  face  and  inert 
form,  she  ran  to  the  unconscious  woman,  patted  her  hands 
and  stroked  the  deathlike  face.  She  did  not  want  to  call  a 
servant  and  looked  in  confusion  around  the  room.  With  a 
sigh  of  relief  she  poured  water  from  a  flower  vase  over  her 
handkerchief,  bathing  the  pale  face  and  forcing  a  few  drops 
between  the  chiselled  lips. 

"Anne,  my  girl!  open  your  eyes  for  auntie,"  she  whis 
pered,  whimpering  and  crooning  as  a  mother  does  over  a 
baby,  but  controlled  herself  when  Anne  sighed  and  slowly 
came  back  to  consciousness.  "Rest  quietly,  dear."  Miss 
Hamilton  smiled  into  the  haggard  face,  "Don't  try  to  speak 
now. ' ' 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  Anne  weakly  turned  her  head  and 
kissed  the  hand  resting  on  her  shoulder.  "I  didn't  sleep 
very  well  last  night.  I'm  tired  to  death." 

"That  is  the  first  time  you  have  admitted  it,  child,  and 
nature  has  just  given  you  a  necessary  warning.  You  need 
rest.  You've  had  nothing  but  society  and  excitement  since 
we  came  here  nearly  five  years  ago  and  your  trips  to  Canada 
and  Florida,  or  other  fashionable  places  were  as  tiring  as 
Washington.  Let  us  go  home,  Anne?" 

"I  can't — oh,  auntie,  I  couldn't  go  home  to  answer  ques 
tions  and  make  excuses." 

"Well,  you  don't  have  to  go,  and  we  won't  argue.  You 
must  go  back  to  bed  and  try  to  get  a  little  of  the  sleep  you 
missed  last  night — you're  almost  prostrated — but  wait  a  min 
uet." 

She  hurried  into  the  dining  room  and  returned  with  a 
glass  of  port  wine. 

"Drink  this,"  she  said,  "it  will  compose  and  warm  you." 

Anne,  obedient  and  suppressed,  did  as  she  was  ordered, 


I  WANT  TO  BE  FREE.  161 

and  after  sipping  the  wine,  rose  to  her  feet.  "You  were 
right  about  Charteris,  auntie,'*  she  confessed.  "I  have  lost 
ray  friend." 

"Oh,  forget  that  young  man.  He  is  unimportant,"  Miss 
Hamilton  said  contemptuously.  "When  he  grows  up  he'll 
be  ashamed  of  himself. ' ' 

They  slowly  walked  up  the  stairs  to  Anne's  large  airy 
room.  The  curtained  French  bed  looked  soft  and  silken,  the 
cool  air  floated  into  the  heated  atmosphere  rippling  the 
hangings,  and  Miss  Hamilton  helped  her  undress,  tucked  her 
snugly  in  bed,  darkened  the  room  and  left  her. 

When  Anne  reappeared  at  luncheon,  she  had  regained 
her  vivacity  and  again  wrapped  the  cloak  of  worldliness 
about  herself. 

"I've  really  arrived  at  a  conclusion,  auntie,"  she  said  de 
cidedly.  "I  want  to  be  free.  Hugh  can  have  his  liberty. 
I'm  tired  of  being  the  wife  of  a  man  who  doesn't  want  me." 


CHAPTER  XII. 
Divorce. 


163 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DIVORCE. 

In  his  apartment  in  Paris,  watched  over  by  the  faithtu* 
Saunders,  Hugh  Crawford  read  the  formal  notice  that  his 
wife  had  instituted  action  for  a  divorce.  He  did  not  feel 
elation,  and  wondered  what  necessity  there  was  for  a  legal 
separation  when  they  never  saw  each  other,  and  had  no 
money  troubles. 

He  felt  as  if  Anne  was  deliberately  trying  to  injure  him 
and  though  he  did  not  care  that  she  ignored  his  letters,  he 
had  not  expected  her  to  show  any  force  of  character ;  least  of 
all  to  demand  her  freedom  as  her  right. 

Lying  on  his  couch,  looking  up  at  her  picture  placed  near 
a  new  one  of  Madame  Ramoniff,  he  told  Saunders  to  bring 
him  brandy.  Now  that  his  wife  was  out  of  his  life,  he 
endowed  her  with  beauty  and  grace  she  had  never  possessed, 
and  decided  that  fate  had  been  most  unkind  in  robbing  him 
of  her.  He  destroyed  the  lawyer's  letter  and  did  not  men 
tion  the  separation  k>  anyone  but  his  vanity  could  not  repress 
unpleasant  regrets. 

Still  searching  new  excitements  he  roamed  over  Europe, 
drinking  and  gambling,  rushing  into  sensuality,  and  using 
tremendous  vigor  in  futile  efforts  to  find  amusement  and 
happiness.  And  through  all  the  drunken  revels  and  health- 
destroying  dissipations,  the  American's  handsome  face 
showed  little  trace  of  the  life  he  led. 

His  personality  was  still  compelling,  he  still  was  a  very 
delightful,  passionate  lover  and  still  looked  deeply  into  lovely 
eyes  when  they  challenged  his. 

The  slight  suggestion  of  mystery  regarding  his  domestic 
relations  did  not  detract  from  his  charm  and  his  reserved 

165 


16G  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

dignity  in  courteously  putting  aside  any  mention  of  his  wife, 
and  cool  loftiness  of  manner,  was  calculated  to  arouse 
feminine  curiosity. 

While  her  husband  was  chasing  fancied  joys,  Anne  Craw 
ford  was  waiting  for  what  she  believed  to  be  the  great  crisis 
of  her  married  life.  Lawyer  Keene  prepared  the  case  for 
the  calendar,  and  being  a  man  of  perception,  was  all  be 
nignity  and  cheerfulness,  and  he  honestly  sympathized  with 
Anne. 

Miss  Hamilton  was  extremely  nervous  and  miserable, 
though  she  did  not  interfere.  She  considered  divorce  a  vul 
gar  proceeding,  but  she  grasped  the  truth  that  Anne  had  a 
right  to  do  what  she  considered  just. 

"A  few  years  ago  you'd  not  be  received  by  decent  people," 
she  confided  to  her  niece.  ' '  You  'd  be  ostracised  by  your  best 
friends,  if  you  divorced  your  husband.  But  now  the  cry 
is  Unlimited  Liberty,  and  if  you  make  a  blunder  in  life,  get 
out  of  it  if  you  can  and  profit  by  the  experience."  She  let 
Anne  ponder  on  these  remarks  before  adding,  "I  don't  sup 
pose  there  is  any  hope  for  a  reconciliation  between  you  and 
Hugh." 

"No!  Absolutely  none,"  Anne  passionately  cried.  "I 
wish  I  had  never  married  him.  If  he  begged  me  on  his 
knees  to  forgive  him  I  would  be  glad  to  show  him  how  I  hate 
and  despise  him." 

Miss  Hamilton  was  in  a  panic  at  the  storm  of  \vords  and 
for  once  showed  the  white  feather  and  hastily  left  the  room ; 
but  Anne  did  not  notice.  She  was  thinking  of  Charteris' 
words,  "Your  husband  does  not  show  you  consideration — 
he  seeks  fairer  shrines. "  "  Some  day  I  will  have  my  revenge, ' ' 
she  muttered  between  clenched  teeth. 

When  the  divorce  was  granted,  she  read  the  published 
announcement  with  keene  satisfaction.  It  was  over,  and 
there  had  been  no  scandal  and  less  gossip  than  she  feared, 
while  the  news-gatherers  had  not  been  venomous  or  inquisi- 


DIVORCE.  167 

live.  It  is  true  they  interviewed  Miss  Hamilton,  who  was 
apparently  afflicted  with  unexpected  deafness  to  such  a 
degree  that  they  left  in  confusion,  feeling  much  compassion 
for  Mrs.  Crawford  who  had  such  an  eccentric  relative  for  a 
chaperone. 

"That's  the  blessing  of  having  money,  Anne,"  Miss  Hamil 
ton  laughed  wickedly.  "As  a  beloved  and  talented  man 
once  told  me,  'I  am  called  eccentric  because  I  have  a  little 
money,  but  if  I  were  a  poor  man  I'd  be  called  a  crank.'  : 
She  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  demure  young  lady 
descending  the  front  stoop.  "That  little  girl  thought  she'd 
find  me  napping.  She's  every  bit  as  smart  as  that  young 
fellow  who  tried  to  pump  me  for  inside  information." 

"Never  mind,  dear.  It's  almost  over  now  and  you've  been 
a  tower  of  strength  to  me." 

Anne  again  rapaciously  entered  into  excitement,  trying  to 
imagine  she  was  satisfied  and  hoping  to  stifle  the  hunger  of 
her  heart.  She  was  white  and  slender  as  a  lily  and  her  eyes 
seemed  deeper  pools  of  passion,  while  she  possessed  an  inter 
esting  charm  of  manner  that  had  never  been  hers  in  early 
girlhood.  She  dressed  her  body  in  gorgeous  raiment  and 
feverishly  sought  distraction,  endeavoring  to  find  the  joy 
and  sweetness  in  the  life  that  stretched  long  before  her. 
On  all  sides  she  found  admiring  eyes  looking  into  hers  and 
felt  the  throb  of  the  love  of  living,  and  the  joy  of  youth 
and  its  allurements,  returning  to  her. 

She  still  flirted  and  trifled,  but  her  experience  with  Char- 
teris  had  been  a  lesson,  and  she  steered  away  from  serious 
complications  with  the  delicacy  and  aplomb  of  an  experienced 
society  woman,  listening  to  many  foolish,  passionate  protesta 
tions  with  sweet  sympathy,  but  refusing  to  be  moved  or 
excited,  and  continued  to  hold  her  would-be  lovers  as  friends. 

This  new  phase  in  Anne's  character  was  another  shock  to 
her  aunt. 


168  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"It  seems  unwomanly,  and  silly,  and  wrong,  to  play  with 
hearts  as  if  they  were  shuttle-cocks,"  she  remonstrated. 

"Oh,  hearts  are  not  affected,  dear,"  Anne  answered.  "They 
are  not  in  the  game.  It  is  only  fun. ' ' 

"Some  day  you'll  play  with  fire,  and  the  sparks  will  burn 
you." 

"You'll  always  be  near  to  act  as  an  extinguisher  in  time 
of  danger,"  Anne  laughed  contentedly.  "I'm  glad  that 
some  men  find  me  desirable.  I  want  to  live — and  there  are 
men  worth  loving." 

Her  words  distressed  her  aunt  and  she  took  the  mutinous, 
young  face  between  her  old,  plump  hands. 

"Yes,  dear!  There  are  many  men,  good  and  true,  and  I 
pray  that  such  a  man  will  bring  happiness  to  you,  but  I 
want  you  to  be  sure  of  the  affection  of  the  next  man  who 
interests  you.  Don't  allow  brilliant  personality,  or  gallant 
promises  to  lead  you  into  another  mistake.  Don't  marry 
a  man  who  loves  your  money,  and  don't  mistake  passion  for 
love." 

"Your  'don'ts'  are  not  very  flattering  to  me,  auntie.  Don't 
you  think  a  man  might  love  me  for  myself?" 

Anne's  red  lips  parted  in  a  peculiar  smile.  She  appeared 
to  be  restless  and  nervous  and  Miss  Hamilton  felt  tempted  to 
put  her  arms  around  her,  but  she  resisted  the  impulse. 

"Do  you  really  believe,"  Anne  asked,  "that  a  good  man 
could  care  for  me  unselfishly  and  truly?" 

"Don't  be  vexed,  dear.  Such  a  man  might — but  make  him 
prove  it." 

Miss  Hamilton  stalked  away.  She  saw  that  she  had  im 
pressed  Anne  and  left  the  room  without  spoiling  the  effect 
of  her  words. 

When  her  aunt  had  gone,  Anne  sat  for  a  long  time  think 
ing  over  Miss  Hamilton's  advice  and  wondering  if  she  had 
met  the  man  who  would  prove  his  unselfishness  and  good 
ness. 


DIVORCE.  169 

She  knew  that  Richard  Seymour,  courtly  and  brilliant, 
was  in  love  with  her.  Flattered  and  sought  by  mothers  with 
marriageable  daughters,  Seymour  was  charming  to  all,  but 
no  woman  had  disturbed  the  equanimity  of  his  existence  until 
he  saw  Anne.  She  was  not  attractive  when  she  first  left 
Crawford  almost  five  years  before.  Her  eyes  had  been  hag 
gard  with  sleeplessness  and  sorrow,  and  she  had  looked  morbid 
and  discontented,  but  Seymour  never  forgot  the  wistful,  earn 
est  face. 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man  who  had  been  around  the  world, 
had  seen  the  different  sides  of  society,  and  was  filled  with 
contempt  for  conventions  and  fashionable  foibles. 

Anne  met  him  at  the  home  of  a  Mrs  Brodie,  a  lady  she  had 
first  known  in  London  where  she  was  recognized  as  one  of 
the  most  socially  influential  "commoners,"  and  when  the 
Brodies  rented  one  of  the  finest  houses  in  Washington,  they 
were  warmly  welcomed  by  society,  and  entertained  magnifi 
cently. 

There  was  a  charming  yonng  daughter  with  gracious,  in 
gratiating  manners  and  a  voice  as  sweet  as  her  mother's. 
Walter  Brodie 's  affairs  called  him  to  the  west  but  his  absence 
was  only  a  short  one  and  when  Anne  entered  their  drawing- 
room,  the  tall,  elegant  Englishman  stood  beside  his  wife. 

His  unexpected  appearance  reminded  Anne  of  the  first 
days  of  her  marriage  and  a  surge  of  pain,  followed  by  a  flash 
of  self-contempt,  swept  over  her,  but  with  an  easy  smile  she 
held  out  her  hand  and  after  a  few  words,  passed  on.  In 
voluntarily  Brodie  glanced  at  his  wife,  surprised  at  the  change 
in  Anne,  for  the  plain  little  American  girl  had  blossomed  into 
a  very  attractive  woman. 

A  few  moments  later  Anne  happened  to  glance  toward  the 
hostess  who  was  speaking  with  a  man.  He  was  looking  in  her 
direction  and  their  eyes  met.  The  glance  was  instantaneous, 
and  the  color  rushed  into  the  man's  face,  while  Anne's  heart 
beat  fast  with  excitement.  The  look  had  been  pointed  but 


170  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

not  ill-bred,  although  it  contained  approval  and  admiration 
and  the  personality  of  the  man  made  an  impression  never 
to  be  forgotten  by  Anne  Crawford.  She  suddenly  realized 
that  she  had  the  power  to  compel  attention  and  regard. 

She  entered  into  conversation  with  an  acquaintance  but 
she  saw  Mrs.  Brodie  coming  toward  her,  the  stranger  beside 
her. 

''Dear  Mrs.  Crawford,"  Mrs  Brodie  drawled  in  her  sweet, 
throaty  voice,  "I  want  you  to  allow  me  to  introduce  an  old 
friend.  Permit  me  to  present  Mr.  Seymour." 

With  a  pleasant  word  she  swept  away  and  Anne,  looking 
up  into  the  self-contained,  calm  face,  felt  a  new  sensation  of 
pride — almost  a  childish  satisfaction,  that  this  man  had 
sought  her  out.  People  were  grouped  about  the  room  and 
the  stranger,  offering  his  arm,  led  her  to  a  seat  in  a  corner, 
saying : 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  England  some  years 
ago,  Mrs.  Crawford." 

"In  England?"  Anne's  tone  expressed  surprise.  Surely 
she  could  not  have  forgotten  this  striking  looking  man. 

"Yes.  I  think  you  were  with  your  maid,  coming  from 
France,"  Seymour  replied  with  an  unaffected  smile.  "I  re 
membered  you  at  once." 

For  an  instant  Anne  looked  serious,  then  with  a  brilliant 
glance  of  invitation,  made  a  place  for  him  beside  her. 

"It  is  years  since  I  was  in  England,"  she  ventured,  and 
feeling  very  gay  and  delightful,  "Are  you  sure  it  was  me  you 
saw?" 

"I  could  not  be  mistaken,"  Seymour  seriously  declared. 
An  involuntary  gleam  of  surprise  showed  in  his  dark-gray 
eyes  at  Anne's  inconsequent  laugh.  He  did  not  know  that 
it  was  because  of  the  happiness  bubbling  up  in  her  heart.  ' '  I 
have  thought  of  you  frequently,"  he.  added,  "and  if  you 
will  pardon  what  sounds  like  an  unpardonable  liberty,  I 
thought  you  were  a  Latin — never  an  American." 


DIVORCE.  171 

Anne's  face  was  beautifully  alive  and  her  eyes  were  shin 
ing.  She  was  thrilled  to  know  that  she  commanded  the 
homage  of  this  serious  man. 

"But  I  am  American — altogether  American,"  she  ex 
claimed,  "in  spite  of  my  aunt  insisting  that  I  am  all 
Spanish. ' ' 

She  stopped,  her  cheeks  flaming  with  mortification,  real 
izing  that  she  was  confiding  childishly  to  a  stranger. 

"Mrs.  Crawford,"  he  began  in  his  quiet  way,  "I  hope 
you  will  forgive  my  boldness,  but  when  I  saw  you  to-night 
I  knew  that  fate  had  brought  me  to  Washington,  and  will 
you  grant  me  a  favor  ?  Just  now  you  spoke  of  your  aunt. 
Will  you  permit  me  to  call?  I  would  like  to  know  her." 

Anne  had  the  capacity  of  feeling  keenest  emotions.  She 
did  not  struggle  against  the  ecstasy  in  her  heart  and  ex 
claimed. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad." 

Her  words  seemed  to  possess  a  prophecy.  The  remem 
brance  lingered  in  her  memory  long  after  she  returned  home 
and  lay  awake  in  the  solitude  of  her  rooms,  and  when  she 
fell  asleep  she  was  murmuring,  "I  shall  be  very  glad." 

Within  the  week  he  called,  and  Anne,  who  appeared  calm, 
was  anxiously  nervous,  wondering  what  her  aunt  would 
think  of  this  new  friend.  In  spite  of  Seymour's  simple  air, 
he  disconcerted  Miss  Hamilton  with  his  democratic  thoughts 
and  distinguished  manners. 

"I  believe  he  is  a  rank  socialist,"  she  told  Anne  when 
he  had  gone,  "but  if  he  is,  he's  the  first  one  I  ever  saw  who 
dared  wear  up-to-date  collars  or  patronize  a  first-class  tailor. 
Most  of  them  seem  to  think  socialism  opposed  to  ornamenta 
tion." 

Anne  paid  no  attention  to  her  aunt's  criticisms.  Life 
was  a  glorious  dream  and  she  seemed  wafted  on  the  wings 
of  contentment  while  she  believed  she  had  never  known 
joy  before.  She  was  intoxicated  with  the  assurance  that 


172  RETURX  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

she  was  desired  for  herself  and,  like  a  flower,  she  blossomed 
under  the  warmth  of  Seymour's  approval  and  admiration. 

In  studying  Anne,  we  must  remember  that  she  was  young 
and  ardent;  with  the  same  love  of  adventure  that  fills  the 
minds  of  all  young  people,  and  that  she  responded  to  sensa 
tions  with  the  warmth  of  her  peculiar  nature :  with  vast 
impetus  hated  or  loved,  and  was  fierce  or  gentle  as  her 
heart  prompted. 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed  since  the  night  of  the  Brodie's 
reception,  and  Anne  had  invited  a  few  intimate  friends  to 
dine. 

Her  drawing-room,  brilliantly  lighted,  was  very  bright 
and  attractive.  Already  the  musicians  had  arrived  and 
were  tuning  up  their  instruments  in  the  music-room  to  the 
right,  and  in  the  rear  of  the  hall  the  dining-room,  wainscoted 
in  Spanish  walnut  and.  lighted  by  a  rose  tinted  dome,  which 
left  every  thing  but  the  table  in  semi-darkness,  was  delight 
fully  attractive. 

Miss  Hamilton  was  detained  in  conversation  with  a  dec 
orated  foreigner  and,  although  Anne  was  welcoming  the 
other  dinner  guests,  she  saw  Richard  Seymour,  with  his 
usual  dignified  confidence,  coming  to  claim  her. 

"When  are  you  going  to  give  me  this?"  He  pressed  her 
hand  as  he  bowed  low  and  drew  her  arm  within  his  own. 
"I  have  made  you  a  proposal  of  marriage.  You  may  think 
it  sudden  and  you  may  think  my  words  ill-timed,  but  I  only 
spoke  from  the  great  desire  in  my  heart." 

Unconsciously  her  fingers  tightened  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered,  "how  could  you?  Please  do  not 
speak  of  such  things — now." 

He  walked  beside  her  in  silence,  but  he  was  not  discour 
aged,  though  he  seemed  to  have  banished  thoughts  of  love 
from  his  mind. 

During  the  dinner  gayety  reigned  and  all  subjects  were 
discussed  from  social  to  political  scandals,  plays,  sports, 


DIVORCE.  173 

oven  the  fear  Russia  was  supposed  to  feel,  believing  that 
nihilists  were  passing  in  and  out  of  her  boundaries,  in  spite 
of  official  vigilance. 

Laying  aside  sentimentality,  Seymour  joined  in  the  con 
versation  with  quiet  impressiveness  and,  contrary  to  usual 
dinners  which  commence  with  gayety,  the  feast  ended  with 
stiff  ceremony.  A  constraint  was  felt — a  subtle  change  in 
the  social  atmosphere  when  Seymour  asked  a  few  shrewd 
questions  regarding  people  and  conditions. 

Walter  Brodie  almost  forgot  his  good-breeding  as  he  im 
pulsively  pushed  back  his  chair.  With  a  smile  of  apology 
to  Anne,  Seymour,  who  had  noticed  Brodie 's  movement, 
exclaimed — 

"  Please,  pardon  me.  I  am  forgetting  that  this  is  a  social 
hour.  I  trust  you  will  remember  that  I  am  deeply  con 
cerned  in  industries  and  conditions  and  make  allowance  for 
my  boring  you." 

Anne  stared  at  him  for  an  instant,  then  smiled. 

' '  It  is  not  necessary  to  offer  any  excuses.  I  did  not  know 
you  were  a  socialist,  but  we  all  read  the  papers  and  the 
whole  world  (even  we  weak  women)  are  interested  in  the 
problems. ' ' 

"Anne  is  going  too  far,"  thought  Miss  Hamilton,  who 
was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself.  "She  speaks  like  a  suf 
fragette." 

With  a  laughing  word  to  a  lady  across  the  table,  Anne 
rose  and  led  the  guests  from  the  dining-room.  Her  social 
experiences  had  been  extensive  and  she  knew  that  her 
friends  were  interested  in  the  amusing,  not  the  serious, 
things  of  life.  She  cleverly  sent  a  word  to  the  musicians 
and  the  chamber  music,  softly  played  during  the  dinner, 
changed  to  a  dreamy  waltz.  Society  has  grown  used  to 
dinner  dances,  and,  with  much  delighted  laughter,  the 
diners,  including  Seymour,  turned  into  the  music  room. 

Anne  was  dressed  in  a  magnificent,  lavender  chiffon,  em- 


174  RETURN  OF  "HUGH  CRAWFORD 

broidered  with  gold  thread.  The  tight-fitting  gown,  with  its 
slashes  that  permitted  dancing,  was  exactly  suited  to  her  face 
and  figure  and  when  she  walked  across  the  floor,  her  peculiar 
Spanish  grace  of  motion  brought  a  glance  of  fervid  admira 
tion  from  Seymour's  eyes  when  she  approached  him. 

Miss  Hamilton,  cosily  resting  behind  a  palm  and  absently 
wondering  what  Anne  would  suggest  next,  opened  her  eyes 
wide  when  she  hear  a  voice  whisper : 

"Ask  me  to  dance.    I  love  to  dance  with  you." 

It  was  Anne  speaking,  and  without  a  word,  Seymour 
encircled  her  in  his  arms  and  they  swayed  to  the  music,  their 
pulses  leaping  as  they  glided  around  the  room.  Hope  whis 
pered  to  the  man 's  heart.  He  had  the  woman  he  loved  in  his 
embrace.  He  was  not  too  old  for  romance  and  did  not  fear 
youth's  demand  for  youth.  "A  man  is  as  old  as  he  feels" — 
why,  he  was  young — strong — a  man,  with  youth's  reliance. 

At  last  the  music  stopped  but  a  sweeter  and  closer  inti 
macy  seemed  to  have  established  itself  between  them.  Anne 
felt  it  and  wondered  what  had  happened  to  change  the  world. 
What  did  it  mean  ?  She  was  almost  irritable  at  the  necessity 
of  entertaining  when  she  longed  to  be  alone  and  at  liberty  to 
analyze  ths  new  emotion  which  had  miraculously  given  her 
a  victorious  sense  of  power  and  rapture. 

Seymour's  face,  flushed  and  smiling,  wore  a  new  expression 
when,  with  a  courteous  gesture,  he  stepped  aside  for  another 
partner  who  was  waiting  for  Anne. 

With  an  inwrard  sigh  she  moved  away,  but  the  rhythm 
seemed  gone  from  the  music  and  with  a  murmured  apology 
she  laid  her  hand  on  her  partner's  arm. 

"I  do  not  feel  well,"  she  panted,  her  breath  coming  in 
gasps.  "Will  you  ask  me  again — later?" 

The  youth,  embarrassed  and  annoyed,  was  relieved  when 
she  added  softly,  "and  please  don't  misunderstand  me.  I 
am  very,  very  tired,  and  will  you  take  me  over  to  Margaret 
Brodie?" 


DIVORCE.  175 

."I  have  brought  you  a  splendid  dancer,  Margaret,"  she 
cried,  and  smiled  with  relief  when  the  young  couple  flashed 
away  over  the  polished  floor. 

"You  did  not  finish  your  dance,  Anne." 

She  looked  up  in  response  to  the  exclamation  and  accepted 
Seymour's  arm  without  speaking.  Ignoring  the  rest  of  the 
guests  they  walked  to  the  end  of  the  long  music  room  and 
entered  a  tiny  east  chamber. 

"You  are  very  white,  dear,"  he  said.  "White  and  sweet  as 
a  bride  rose.  I  love  you  dearly,  sweetheart,  and  my  love  will 
never  change.  It  is  part  of  myself.  Will  you  be  my  wife, 
Anne?" 

He  held  her  hand  and  did  not  try  to  caress  her  but  by 
some  mysterious  comprehension  Anne  knew  that  her  life 
was  complete.  Her  blood  leaped  madly.  Within  a  few  feet 
of  them  the  dancers  kept  time  to  the  music,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  exist  save  herself  and  the  man  beside  her.  Her  eyes  grew 
moist  with  feeling. 

In  consternation  he  saw  the  tears. 

"You  are  not  happy — you  do  not  care  for  me?"  With 
unconscious  rudeness  he  demanded,  "Are  you  grieving  for 
Crawford?" 

' '  No, ' '  she  answered,  seeing  no  impertinence  in  the  question, 
"I  never  want  to  see  him  again."  She  looked  straight  into 
Seymour's  eyes,  "I  don't  know  why  I  am  crying.  Perhaps 
the  strength  of  my  love  for  you  makes  me  weak." 

"Anne." 

He  was  white  with  emotion  and  folded  her  in  his  arms, 
whispering  words  of  tenderness  and  love — words  balm  to 
her  heart.  Eloquent  outpourings  of  affection  came  from  his 
lips  and  the  gates  of  bliss  she  had  believed  closed  to  her  for 
ever,  were  opened,  longing  and  love  overpowered  her  and  she 
clung  to  him,, their  lips  meeting  in  an  ecstasy  of  emotion. 

The  music  ceased  and  Anne  grew  a  little  calmer.  At  the 
moment  she  did  not  think  of  the  future :  the  present  was  seduc- 


176  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

tive  enough  to  satisfy  her  restless  soul.  She  did  not  think  of 
marriage,  but  revelled  in  the  thought  that  she  was  truly  loved. 

A  shade  of  impatience  showed  on  her  face  when  a  youth 
ful  head  thrust  itself  between  the  silken  hangings. 

"We  want  you,  Mrs.  Crawford,"  demanded  the  girl,  and 
with  a  gentle  word  to  her  lover,  Anne. returned  alone  to  her 
guests. 

"You  shouldn't  hide  yourself,  dear,"  Miss  Hamilton  whis 
pered  reprovingly.  "Don't  give  people  a  chance  to  speak 
unkindly  of  you." 

"Let  them  talk,"  Anne  laughed  gaily.  "Why  shouldn't 
they  ?  Speech  is  free  whether  silver  is  or  not. ' ' 

Her  aunt  was  annoyed. 

"You  needn't  be  flippant  or  try  to  make  fun  of  me,"  she 
said,  resentfully.  "They  want  you  at  the  piano.  Margaret 
Brodie  has  promised  to  sing  if  you  will  accompany  her. ' ' 

The  rest  of  the  evening  passed  like  a  dream.  Seymour, 
too  deeply  in  love  to  think  of  returning  to  his  club,  ordered 
his  chauffeur  to  drive  out  of  the  city  and,  wrapped  in  his  fur- 
lined  coat,  smoked  and  dreamed.  The  night  was  cold  and 
bracing.  A  pale  moon  and  myriads  of  stars  decorated  the 
dark  sky.  Seymour  did  not  notice  how  recklessly  they  were 
speeding,  nor  did  he  know  that  the  man  at  the  wheel  drooped 
sleepily — that  his  chauffeur  had  been  drinking  and  was  losing 
control  of  the  machine. 

"My  little  Anne.  I  love  her  and  will  make  her  happy," 
he  murmured,  as  he  leaned  forward  to  give  the  order  to  re 
turn  to  the  city,  there  was  a  violent  impact — and  then,  for 
him,  oblivion. 


When  everyone  had  gone  Anne  stopped  in  her  aunt's  room 
but  did  not  sit  down  as  usual  to  chat  over  the  evening's 
happenings. 


DIVORCE.  17U 

"I'm  sure  you're  tired,  dear,"  she  said,  quietly.  "Go 
right  to  sleep  like  a  good  little  auntie  and  we'll  talk  in  the 
morning. ' ' 

She  wanted  to  be  alone  to  recall  the  words  of  love  and  the 
promises  of  fidelity  and  devotion  Seymour  had  poured  into 
her  willing  ears.  He  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  but  the 
passionate  joy  seemed  to  have  departed,  and  a  premonition 
that  something  was  going  to  happen  subdued  her  ardor. 

A  sub-conscious  regret  dampened  her  spirits  and  when  she 
fell  asleep  she  tossed  feverishly,  and  her  dreams  were  not  of 
the  present,  but  of  her  childhood  days  with  Crawford. 

When  she  awakened  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  threw  her  hair 
away  from  her  face,  then  with  a  lithe  movement  she  jumped 
to  the  floor,  and  going  to  one  of  the  windows,  opened  the 
curtains,  A  desire  for  light  and  air,  a  longing  for  the  open 
country  possessed  her,  and  for  the  first  time  she  was  home 
sick  and  wanted  to  return  to  La  Conner. 

Anne  was  emotional,  and  the  silence  of  the  room,  broken 
by  the  sounds  of  the  city  coming  through  the  open  window, 
gave  her  a  sense  of  annoyance.  Accidentally  her  right  hand 
closed  over  her  left,  and  her  thumb  rested  on  her  wedding 
ring.  She  had  never  removed  the  golden  band  which  Craw 
ford  had  placed  on  her  finger,  and  a  nervous  thrill  of  un 
easiness  caused  her  to  tremble.  The  words  of  the  wedding 
service  strayed  across  her  mind — then  the  memory  of  her 
love  for  Seymour,  her  promise,  his  looks,  words  and  tender 
hopes,  swept  over  her. 

She  drew  on  a  lacy  bed-gown  lying  on  the  chair  beside  her, 
and  again  threw  herself  on  her  bed.  With  her  hands  pressed 
against  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  unpleasant  visions,  she  lay 
white  and  still,  while  thoughts  crowded  like  living  things 
forcing  to  be  considered,  and  demanding  her  to  decide  the 
question  of  her  future.  Her  soul,  under  the  dominion  of  her 
early  Presbyterian  training,  thrilled  with  condemnation  and 


178  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

fear,  and  though  the  love  she  felt  for  Seymour  remained,  she 
struggled  with  her  conscience. 

How  volatile  she  was — and  how  ineffectually  she  had 
guarded  her  own  destiny.  She — who  had  so  bitterly  criticized 
Crawford  for  wanting  a  divorce.  She — who  had  once  rigidly 
condemned  the  remarriage  of  divorced  people. 

With  a  passionate  feeling  of  self-disillusionment  she  crossed 
the  room  and  sitting  down  at  her  desk,  opened  the  secret 
drawer  that  contained  Crawford's  letters  and  the  locket  hold 
ing  his  picture.  "There  is  no  thought  of  another  woman," 
she  read.  The  words  seemed  to  be  a  burning  reproach.  He 
begged  for  forgiveness.  He  had  not  sought  consolation  in 
new  marriage  ties.  With  a  sense  of  shame  she  recollected  her 
flirtation  with  Charteris  and  every  folly  of  her  life  during  the 
years  she  had  been  separated  from  her  husband  seemed  to 
stand  accusingly  before  her,  and  her  love  for  Seymour  ap 
peared  base  and  wicked.  Marriage  was  an  obligation — a  sac 
rament  not  to  be  set  aside. 

Her  resolution  was  made,  seriously  and  finally.  She  would 
not  see  Richard  Seymour  again.  With  a  glance  at  the  face  in 
the  golden  setting,  smiling  at  her  with  boyish  satisfaction,  she 
seized  her  pen  and  wrote : 

" Forgive  me!  I  am  ashamed — heartbroken,  but  what  we 
dreamed  of  can  never  be.  I  cannot  marry  you,  athough  I 
will  always  love  you. 

"There  is  only  one  way  and  that  is  the  right  way.  I  can 
not  see  but  right  is  light,  though  I  seem  to  be  lost  in  the  gloom. 

"If  you  love  me,  do  not  write — do  not  try  to  see 

"ANNE." 

She  rang  for  Dora,  who  came,  bringing  a  message  from  Miss 

Hamilton,  but  Anne  interrupted. 

"See  that  this  goes  at  once.    There  is  no  answer." 

Dora  noted  the  tragic,  white  face  with  keen  anxiety  and 

silently  took  the  letter  and  left  the  room. 


DIVORCE.  179 

For  several  moments  Anne  sat  motionless,  listening  to 
voices  droning  in  the  hall  below  and  then  silence.  The 
muscles  of  her  face  quivered  and  she  broke  down. 

She  did  not  know  when  Dora  came  back  bearing  a  tray 
laden  with  dainty  silver  and  china,  and  the  woman,  wise  and 
loving,  did  not  appear  to  notice  that  her  mistress'  eyes  were 
red  and  swollen,  but  quietly  arranged  the  delicious  breakfast, 
and,  placing  a  vase  of  flowers  in  the  center  of  the  dishes,  car 
ried  the  tray  with  its  costly  adjuncts  to  Anne's  dressing  table, 
said: 

"Your  auntie  has  a  headache,  and  she  is  having  breakfast 
in  her  room.  I  thought  you  might  be  tired,  too,  Miss  Anne, 
and  brought  you  something." 

She  received  no  answer  and  with  slow  steps  descended  to 
the  basement.  Soon  an  awkward,  tawny  figure  rushed  by 
her  and  disappeared  upstairs;  there  was  a  throaty,  impatient 
whine  outside  of  Anne's  door  and,  with  a  wintry  smile,  Anne 
turned  the  knob  and  Fifi  jumped  in,  panting  and  dancing 
around  her  mistress.  Receiving  no  attention,  she  sat  up  and 
waved  her  paws,  trying  to  express  sympathy,  her  wide,  red 
mouth  gaping  in  smilelike  perplexity  and  her  tongue  rolling 
out,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  ridiculous  gargoyle. 

In  spite  of  her  sadness,  Anne  laughed  and  petted  the  cre 
ature,  her  impulsive,  affectionate  nature  responding  to  love — 
even  the  dumb  devotion  of  a  brute. 

When  her  letter  to  Seymour  had  left  the  house,  she  felt 
that  a  turning-point  between  right  and  wrong  had  been 
passed.  She  believed  it  was  not  sinful  for  divorced  people 
to  make  other  marriages  if  they  accepted  the  new  teachings, 
but  she  would  have  felt  guilty,  and  her  life  would  have  been 
miserable. 

She  was  tired  and  shaken,  but  still  having  enough  courage 
to  rouse  herself  from  lethargic  despondency,  slowly  drank  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  went  to  her  bath.  Her  ablutions  brought 
a  freshness — a  delightful  sense  of  relaxation  and  slipping  her 


180  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

feet  into  softly  padded  mules,  she  wrapped  herself  in  her  loose 
silken  gown  and  returned  to  her  bedroom.  Listlessly  walking 
to  the  window  which  Dora  had  closed,  she  drew  back  its  hang 
ings  of  silk  and  lace  and  gazed  into  the  street  which  was 
almost  deserted  in  the  early  morning  hour;  but  she  could 
not  control  her  thoughts  from  straying  and  with  a  sigh, 
dropped  the  curtains  and  reflectively  sat  down  at  her  desk. 

Crawford's  picture  still  smiled  at  her  and  with  an  im 
patient  exclamation  she  replaced  it  with  his  letters  in  the 
drawer  where  it  had  rested  during  the  years  of  their  sepa 
ration.  She  acknowledged  to  herself  that  she  had  sought  a 
divorce  from  Crawford  only  because  her  pride  rebelled  at 
his  attentions  to  other  women.  It  was  true  she  had  flirted, 
and  amused  herself  with  the  follies  of  good  society,  had  trifled 
with  conventions,  and  coquetted,  and  danced  in  pleasure's 
wake,  but  she  had  not  seriously  cared  about  anything  or  any 
body  until  the  warmth  of  Richard  Seymour's  love  won  her 
heart  and  brought  her  face  to  face  with  her  conscience. 

She  had  tried  to  blind  herself  to  believe  that  his  love  for 
her  and  her  love  for  him,  would  bring  perfect  harmony  into 
their  lives,  and  that  Crawford's  infidelities  made  her  re 
marriage  justifiable;  but  when  she  was  put  to  the  test,  her 
eyes  were  opened  to  the  truth  and  it  only  needed  thoughtful 
solitude,  an  old  letter  and  a  glimpse  of  the  pictured  face  of 
the  husband  of  her  youth,  to  awaken  her  moral  sense  and 
scatter  all  her  hopes  into  chaos. 

It  is  possible  that  if  Richard  Seymour  had  again  seen  Anne 
Crawford  that  his  deep  passion  and  personal  influence  would 
have  overcome  her  scruples,  and  they  might  have  enjoyed  a 
happy  married  life  together.  She  craved  the  domestic  joys 
such  a  union  promised,  and  he  was  man  enough  to  hold  the 
deep,  mature  affection  he  had  aroused :  but  the  great  power 
which  determines  all  things,  banished  the  question  out  of 
Anne's  life. 

She  was  growing  more  composed  when  the  telephone  on  the 


DIVORCE.  181 

table  lightly  buzzed,  and  her  heart  stopped  throbbing  for  an 
instant.  She  was  extremely  nervous  and  unstrung,  and  vague 
fear  assailed  her.  She  hesitated  before  lifting  the  receiver. 
The  thought  that  it  might  be  Seymour,  begging — perhaps  de 
manding  as  his  right,  an  interview,  made  her  tremble.  But 
it  was  a  woman's  voice,  deep  and  vibrating  with  resonance, 
the  tones  so  clear  and  metallic  that  they  rang  through  the 
room  and  Fifi,  with  a  snarl,  jumped  toward  the  phone. 

"Yes —  '  Anne  answered,  with  her  free  hand  quieting  the 
little  beast.  "Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  Crawford  speaking.  Oh,  Mrs. 
Brodie,  how  do  you  do? — No,  I  have  not  read  this  morning's 
papers — An  accident — Why,  no — Richard  Seymour  killed! 
Oh,  impossible." 

Her  voice  trailed  into  a  wail  of  agony,  but  the  compelling 
desire  to  know  the  worst  brought  her  mouth  again  to  the 
phone. 

"Yes,  I  am  still  here — Oh,  it  is  dreadful — I  am — "  but  she 
could  not  stand  the  strain  and  with  a  whimpering  cry  she 
dropped  the  receiver  and  fell  to  the  floor. 

The  little  yellow  bulldog  stood  over  her  glaring  at  the 
swinging  tube  beside  her.  Every  hair  bristled  and  a  stiff 
brush  ran  down  her  back.  She  sniffed  and  nosed,  her  black 
muzzle  twitching,  as  with  nervous  whinings  she  tried  to  rouse 
her  mistress,  but  failing  to  win  the  usual  caress,  the  worried 
animal  lifted  her  head  and  howled,  long  and  piteously,  again 
and  again;  the  wail  ringing  through  the  house,  each  time 
louder  and  more  frenzied. 

' '  My  heavens !  What  has  happened  ? ' '  Miss  Hamilton  cried 
as  she  burst  into  the  room  followed  by  Dora  and  the  servants. 
"Oh,  God!  Is  she  dead?" 

She  dropped  on  her  knees  and  half  lifted  the  unconscious 
head.  The  lashes  lay  long  and  dark,  veiling  the  loved  eyes, 
the  features  appeared  shrunk,  and  the  body  was  limp.  Mo 
tioning  the  servants  out  of  the  room,  Miss  Hamilton  bared  the 
«old  breast  and  laid  her  devoted  gray  head  over  Anne's 


swooning  heart.  She  could  detect  no  pulsation,  and  with 
working  features  and  tear-dimmed  eyes  watched  the  fixed  face 
while  Dora  poured  water  between  the  pale  lips.  After 
moments  of  anxious  waiting,  the  fringed  eyelids  opened,  and 
with  joyous  relief  Miss  Hamilton  heard  the  breath  fluttering 
from  the  drooping  mouth. 

' '  He  is  gone.  He  is  gone, ' '  Anne  whispered  and  turned  her 
head  closer  to  her  aunt's  breast.  "Oh,  auntie,  thank  God  he 
did  not-  get  my  letter:  he  is  gone — I  will  never  see  him 
again." 

Dora  who  was  thinking  of  the  letter  she  had  taken  to  the 
footman  to  deliver  to  Seymour,  kept  her  eyes  on  the  carpet. 

"There,  there,  dearie,"  Miss  Hamilton  soothed,  "every 
thing  is  all  right.  Don't  talk,  darling,  and  try  not  to  think." 

Obeying  a  gesture,  Dora  assisted  her  in  lifting  the  slight 
form  to  the  bed  and  sighing  deeply,  Miss  Hamilton  drew  the 
coverlit  up  with  caressing  fingers. 

She  glanced  at  the  table  and  seeing  that  the  breakfast  tray 
had  been  disturbed  and  coffee  still  remained  in  the  cup,  she 
was  at  a  complete  loss  to  understand  what  could  have  oc 
curred  to  cause  Anne 's  f aintness  or  the  reason  for  the  strange 
words  she  had  uttered. 

She  turned  from  the  bed  to  the  windows,  opening  them 
wide  and  grasping  the  curtains,  held  the  cascades  of  silk  and 
lace  in  her  hands,  as  they  were  caught  by  the  draught  and 
billowed  into  the  room  like  gorgeous  balloons.  But  she  sud 
denly 'let  them  go  when  a  newsboy  passing  the  house  on  the 
return  from  his  morning  rounds,  called  the  sensational  news 
of  the  day.  ' '  American  troops  still  in  Mexico.  Our  flag  must 
be  saluted.  Fatal  accident  to  a  philanthropist.  Richard 
Seymour  killed  in  automobile  wreck."  "Oh,"  she  murmured 
in  horrified  tones,  "Anne  must  have  heard.  Can  it  be  possi 
ble  ?  Oh,  my  poor  little  girl.  I  wonder — 

Her  glance  strayed  to  the  desk  where  the  telephone  was 


DIVORCE.  183 

placed,  aiid  shaking  her  head  with  a  pathetic  feeling  of  help 
lessness,  she  heavily  crossed  the  room  and  hung  up  the  re 
ceiver. 


No  one  knew  of  Anne's  affection  for  Seymour,  so  she  had 
no  difficulty  in  hiding  her  sorrow,  and  the  shock  of  his  death 
brought  no  apparent  grief  to  the  heart  of  the  woman  he  had 
loved  with  the  single  passion  of  his  strong  nature,  but  Anne's 
life  was  changed,  and  all  the  homage  and  flattery  she  had 
once  enjoyed  turned  to  dead-sea  fruit.  Her  keen  zest  for 
society  and  its  allurements  turned  to  indifference  though  she 
did  not  remark  the  change  in  her  nature. 

Seymour's  friends  were  deeply  excited  over  the  tragedy 
and  wondered  if  any  secrets  in  the  quiet  man's  life  would  be 
disclosed,  or  if  any  claimants  would  appear — if  there  had 
been  any  scandal  in  his  life.  But  Richard  Seymour's  papers 
were  found  to  be  most  uninteresting  to  society  gossips.  There 
were  letters,  a  few  brief  notes,  and  a  rather  lengthy  but  ex 
plicit  will,  naming  Alfred  Barrett  and  another  friend  of  long 
standing,  as  executors. 

There  was  no  mention  of  the  woman  he  loved,  but  the 
remembrance  of  his  affection  was  a  treasure  always  to  be 
cherished  in  the  heart  of  Anne  Crawford. 

Her  aunt  commenced  to  notice  that  while  Anne  entertained 
as  lavishly,  went  to  dinners  and  dances,  and  attended  formal 
gatherings  and  entertainments,  she  had  grown  quieter.  She 
had  lost  the  piquant  recklessness  of  manner  which  made  her 
so  original,  and  the  quiet  reserve,  which  she  had  thrown 
aside  when  she  separated  from  her  husband,  again  showed 
in  her  speech  and  behavior. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
An  Accident. 


185 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AN  ACCIDENT. 

"Well!  What  do  you  think  of  this?  I  have  news  that 
will  surprise  you."  Miss  Hamilton  looked  over  her  glasses' 
to  see  if  Anne  was  listening  and,  satisfied  that  she  had 
aroused  sufficient  curiosity,  said  importantly,  "Mr.  and  Mrs. 
MacVeety  are  going  to  honor  us  with  a  call.  Ellen  writes 
that  she  has  something  beautiful  to  show  us.  I  can't  under 
stand  her  letter;  she  writes  very  foolishly  and  mysteriously 
for  a  woman  of  her  years." 

"Oh,  auntie!  I  am  so  glad,"  Anne  exclaimed,  a  wave  of 
kindly  interest  lighting  up  her  handsome  eyes.  "I  have 
never  forgotten  how  sweet  she  was  to  me  when  I  visited  them 
in  New  York.  I  haven't  seen  her  since  then — since  before  I 
was  married.  She  is  such  a  dear  woman.  We  must  make 
their  visit  very  pleasant.  They  must  stay  with  us." 

"I  have  never  asked  you  why  you  kept  away  from  the 
Deaks — I  have  tried  never  to  force  your  confidence,  Anne,  but 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  if  there  was  any  misunderstanding. 
Why  didn't  you  call  on  them — or  want  me  to  see  them,  when 
we  were  in  New  York?" 

There  was  no  getting  away  from  Miss  Hamilton's  point- 
blank  question  and  Anne  answered  candidly. 

"I  was  afraid  they  would  speak  of  Hugh.  Eleanor  was 
very  familiar  with  our  friends  in  Paris — and  I  didn't  want 
to  answer  questions." 

"When  you  were  at  school  you  were  intimate  with  each 
other  and  I  suppose  she  would  try  to  be  inquisitive;  but  it's 
easy  to  discourage  unpleasant  questions — and  she's  a  lady. 
Very  likely  she'd  ignore  the  subject  unless  you  brought  it  up 
yourself." 

187 


188  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

The  bay  window  of  the  dining-room  where  they  were  talk 
ing  looked  upon  a  tiny  patch  of  garden  and  the  bright  light 
poured  directly  upon  Anne 's  face,  making  her  black  hair  and 
eyes  contrast  in  attractive  beauty  against  the  clear  whiteness 
of  her  skin.  She  wore  a  dainty  dress  of  pale  blue  woolen,  and 
Miss  Hamilton  regarded  her  with  owlish  solemnity  for  a  full 
moment. 

Anne  laughed  at  the  silent  scrutiny  and  her  aunt's  face 
relaxed  in  a  smile. 

"You're  going  to  be  a  beautiful  old  lady,  Anne,"  she  de 
clared.  "You  improve  as  you  grow  older." 

"If  you  speak  like  that  I'll  believe  you  are  Irish — not 
Scotch,"  Anne  answered,  coloring  with  pleasure. 

"Ellen  writes  that  they  will  be  here  early  in  the  after 
noon,"  Miss  Hamilton  said,  changing  the  subject  and  refer 
ring  to  the  letter  in  her  hand.  She  was  impressed  by  the 
undercurrent  of  affectionate  friendship  running  through  it. 
although  it  was  written  in  an  intentionally  mysterious  fash 
ion. 

The  day  following,  the  two  women  waited  as  impatiently 
as  children  for  the  outspoken  little  woman  they  both  loved, 
and  when  a  large  automobile  swept  up  the  street  and  stopped 
before  the  house,  both  Anne  and  her  aunt  were  peering 
through  the  curtains. 

"For  the  land's  sake,"  squealed  Miss  Hamilton,  surprise 
making  her  voice  almost  an  octave  higher  than  its  usual  low 
pitch,  "if  they  haven't  a  baby." 

Andrew  MacVeety,  large  and  imposing,  tenderly  assisted 
his  wee  wife  from  the  car  and  Anne's  lips  grew  cold  when 
she  saw  Eleanor  Hardeen  and  little  Phil  follow. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  footman  ushered  in  the  visitors,  but 
Miss  Hamilton  brushed  him  aside  with  welcoming  words  on 
her  lips  and  the  two  older  women  kissed  each  other  warmly, 
while  their  faces  glowed  with  feeling  as  they  exchanged 
greetings. 


AN  ACCIDENT.  189 

"It  seems  ages  since  we  saw  each  other  last  and  I  couldn't 
pass  through  Washington  again  without  seeing  you  dear 
people,"  Mrs.  MacVeety  exclaimed  as  she  turned  and  clasped 
Anne's  hands.  "And  Eleanor  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you 
— you  haven't  seen  each  other  for  years." 

She  turned  her  glance  to  Eleanor  who  nodded  and  blushed, 
fearing  her  aunt's  penetrating  eyes. 

It  was  true  that  Eleanor  Hardeen  and  Anne  had  not  met 
face  to  face  since  their  winter  in  Paris,  and  the  remembrance 
of  her  indifference  to  Hugh  Crawford's  wife  and  of  which 
she  had  repented,  made  Eleanor  red  with  confusion;  but 
Mrs.  MacVeety  broke  in  upon  the  unpleasant  moment.  Leav 
ing  the  two  young  women  facing  each  other,  she  turned  to  her 
friend. 

' '  Well,  Mary  Hamilton — and  this  is  the  first  time  you  have 
met  Andrew,  or  seen  my  baby, ' '  she  burst  out.  She  smiled  af 
fectionately  at  her  husband  then  taking  the  child  from  the 
nurse's  arms,  tenderly  lifted  the  veil  and  disclosed  a  beau 
tiful,  smiling  infant. 

"Isn't  she  a  beauty,  Mary?  I  knew  I'd  give  you  a  sur 
prise,"  Mrs.  MacVeety  cried,  proudly  returning  Miss  Hamil 
ton's  gaze  of  astonishment.  "I  wasted  so  many  years  dally 
ing,  before  marrying  Andrew,  that  the  Lord  punished  me  by 
giving  me  no  babies  of  my  own,  but  Andrew  and  I  both 
wanted  a  child  so  we've  adopted  our  little  daughter.  She's 
going  to  have  red  hair  like  her  new  papa — and  I  think  she 
looks  like  Andrew." 

At  this  astonishing  declaration  everyone  laughed  and  the 
atmosphere  was  cleared.  With  her  talent  for  managing  men 
(and  women)  the  middle-aged  mother  placed  the  baby  in 
Miss  Hamilton's  arms  and  told  the  nurse  to  amuse  little  Phil 
who  had  grown  into  a  lusty  lad.  Andrew  MacVeety  dis 
creetly  directed  his  attention  to  the  pictures  and  superb  fur 
nishings  of  the  white  and  gold  drawing-room. 


190  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Anne  and  Eleanor,  their  voices  lowered,  had  retreated  to 
the  inner  parlor. 

"You  were  surprised  to  see  me,  Anne?" 

Eleanor  put  her  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  She  noted 
that  Anne  winced  at  the  familiarity  but  she  was  going  to  do 
what  she  could  to  regain  her  friend's  good  opinion. 

"You  purposely  kept  away  from  me  whenever  you  were 
in  New  York  although  we  have  frequently  been  very  near  each 
other,  and  you  did  not  answer  any  of  my  letters.  I  don't 
intend  that  you  shall  ignore  me  any  more." 

Anne  flushed  with  anger  but  did  not  speak.  All  the  bit 
terness  and  humiliation  of  her  winter  in  France  returned 
with  stinging  memory,  and  she  was  still  jealous  of  Eleanor. 
She  was  fearful  of  betraying  her  feelings  and  drew  a  long 
trembling  breath  before  answering. 

"Don't  speak  to  me  of  Paris,  I — 

' '  You  returned  so  unexpectedly  that  I  had  no  opportunity 
of  seeing  you,"  Eleanor  purposely  interrupted,  "and  I  hoped 
you  would  send  me  a  line.  I  returned  very  soon  after — Mr. 
Crawford  was  on  the  same  steamer  but  I  'm  a  wretched  sailor 
and  did  not  see  him  until  the  day  we  reached  New  York.  He 
was  going  to  you,  I  suppose.  He  made  his  formal  call  before 
he  returned  to  Europe  and  I  was  sorry  you  were  not  with 
him." 

The  few  words  cleared  many  suspicions  from  Anne's  mind, 
and  Eleanor  purposely  ignored  the  estrangement  between  the 
Crawfords,  apparently  unaware  of  the  divorce. 

"You  have  grown  into  a  beauty,  Anne.  What  has  changed 
the  little  mouse  into  a  butterfly?" 

She  could  have  cried  with  relief  when  she  saw  a  smile 
across  Anne's  lips  and  felt  more  cordiality  in  Anne's  man 
ner. 

"At  heart  I  am  anything  but  a  butterfly,  Eleanor." 

Anne  was  wondering  how  she  could  blame  Eleanor  for 
flirting.  She — who  had  been  so  frivolous  and  weak.  "Very 


AN  ACCIDENT.  191 

likely  I  exaggerated  everything,"  she  thought,  scornfully 
blaming  herself,  and  her  lips  parted  in  the  smile  that  made 
her  really  beautiful. 

"Auntie  and  I  have  been  veritable  gypsies.  We've  roved 
all  over  the  States  during  the  past  few  years,  going  where  and 
when  our  fancy  led.  I'm  afraid  we  neglected  many  of  our 
old  friends — why  we  have  not  even  been  home — to  La  Conner. 
But  I  am  very  glad  you  came  to  see  me.  Won't  you  and  little 
Phil  stay  with  us  for  a  while?" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Anne  dear,  I  would  love  to,  but  father  is 
waiting  for  us  in  New  York.  He  can't  bear  the  boy  out  of  his 
sight — they  adore  each  other — but  some  other  time  I  will  be 
very  glad." 

Each  knew  that  the  barrier  of  misunderstanding  was 
broken  down,  and  they  carried  restored  friendship  in  their 
hearts  when  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room  where  the 
two  older  women  were  crooning  over  the  baby,  who  regarded 
them  with  great  wondering,  blue  eyes. 

"Anne,  you  are  going  to  write  to  me?  We're  the  same 
good  friends?"  Eleanor  whispered  when  they  were  leaving. 

' '  Yes,  indeed  I  will,  and — thank  you  for  coming,  Eleanor. ' ' 
There  was  a  slight  tremor  in  Anne's  voice  but  her  eyes 
beamed  with  good  will.  "I'm  sorry  we  couldn't  prevail  on 
YOU  to  remain." 


When  they  were  snugly  settled  in  their  car  and  on  their 
way  back  to  New  York,  Mrs.  MacVeety  turned  to  Eleanor. 

"Well!  You  crawled  out  of  an  unpleasant  situation  very 
gracefully,  dear.  I  didn't  know  you  had  so  much  diplo 
macy." 

"Diplomacy?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  suppose  you  explained  that  it  was  very  proper  and 
usual  for  Anne's  good-looking  fool  of  a  husband  to  follow 
you  across  the  Atlantic.  I'd  like  to  see  myself  traveling  with 


192 


a  maid  and  allowing  Andrew  to  neglect  me  while  he  made 
an  ass  of  himself  running  after  another  woman." 

Eleanor  smiled  into  the  wrathful  face  and  her  aunt  added : 

"You  needn't  grin." 

"You're  all  wrong,  aunt  Ellen.  I  did  not  see  Mr.  Craw 
ford  but  once  during  the  voyage.  We  do  not  like  each  other. 
He  is  not  good  enough  for  Anne." 

"If  I  judged  you  wrongly,  I  want  you  to  forgive  me,  but 
it  certainly  looked  suspicious.  I'm  mighty  glad  if  you  didn't 
help  to  put  the  tragedy  I  see  in  Anne 's  eyes. ' ' 

Ellen  MacVeety,  her  life  tranquil  and  complete,  forgot. the 
conversation — but  Eleanor  did  not. 


"I  wish  I  had  a  baby,"  Anne  declared  after  the  friends  had 
gone.  "I  feel  in  love  writh  their  little  one.  Didn't  it  crow 
and  gurgle  when  you  held  it?" 

"If  you  ever  marry  again  your  wish  will  very  likely  be 
gratified,"  Miss  Hamilton  smiled  with  perfect  understanding 
of  Anne 's  outburst.  ' '  You  come  of  British  blood.  The  old 
country  people  usually  have  big  families  and  are  proud  of  it 
and  it's  quite  natural  for  a  woman  to  want  children.  If  I 
had  married,  I  would  have  prayed  for  a  round  dozen.  It's 
been  a  calamity  to  me  that  I  have  no  children  of  my  own. ' ' 

"Never  you  mind,  auntie,"  laughed  Anne  cheerfully, 
"We're  not  dead  yet." 

She  slipped  her  arm  around  Miss  Hamilton's  waist  and 
they  ascended  the  stairs.  Outside  of  her  aunt's  room  she 
said  she  was  going  to  answer  some  long  neglected  letters  and 
thoughtfully  went  to  her  own  suite. 

Life  seemed  tame  and  uninteresting  and  Eleanor's  visit  had 
awakened  thoughts  of  the  past.  The  years  since  their  last 
meeting  had  been  full  of  excitement,  dressing  and  dining, 
laughing  and  dining,  mingled  with  regrets  and  tears.  They 
had  been  unsatisfactory  and  after  the  tragedy  of  Seymour's 


AN  ACCIDENT.  193 

death,  the  daily  round  of  social  demands  proved  monotonous 
and  odious  to  Anne.  She  longed  for  a  different  life.  Her 
mind  fluctuated  between  plans  and  projects.  She  was  un 
decided  whether  to  remain  in  Washington  or  seek  peace  in 
travel.  Although  she  was  homesick  for  the  old  home  in  La 
Conner,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  return  to  her  friends — who 
were  also  the  friends  of  Hugh. 

She  could  not  compose  herself  to  write  and,  visibly  de 
pressed,  returned  to  her  aunt.  Outside  the  door  of  Miss 
Hamilton's  rooms  she  tried  to  throw  aside  the  melancholy 
mood  and  something  of  the  spirit  of  her  adventurous  for 
bears  showed  in  her  restless  eyes.  In  the  afternoon  light,  the 
rooms  appeared  very  luxurious,  seductive  and  beautiful,  but  a 
wild  desire  for  freedom  from  conventions — a  yearning  for 
adventure  possessed  her  and  she  looked  around  discontent 
edly. 

"I'm  tired  of  everything!  I  want  to  get  away  from  the 
house."  She  took  a  swift  step  toward  her  aunt.  "I'm  wasting 
my  life  and  yours.  Nothing  we  do  seems  worth  while, 
auntie." 

Miss  Hamilton  looked  up  with  an  instinct  of  alarm  at 
Anne's  outburst,  and  though  her  heart  was  troubled,  she  was 
aroused  to  angry  response. 

"You  are  talking  at  random.  It's  the  selfishness  of  the 
life  you  lead  that  makes  you  dissatisfied.  You  think  only  of 
yourself  and  your  own  sensations.  Go  among  the  poor  and 
visit  a  hospital,  or  interest  yourself  in  some  of  the  helpless 
children  needing  money — and  love.  I  was  much  more  happy 
before  I  came  here  to  live.  Washington  is  all  right  but  I 
prefer  my  old  home.  You  prate  about  society  here.  Why, 
there  is  no  society  as  I  know  the  word.  It  is  all  senseless 
competition  and  ostentation.  I  don't  find  much  friendship 
beneath  the  fulsome  attentions  your  money  attracts." 

"You  scold  me  because  you  are  homesick,"  Anne  leaned 


194  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

forward.  "Philanthropy  is  a  species  of  self-indulgence  too. 
A  selfish  longing  to  please  God  and  man,  and  a  chance  to 
glorify  yourself  instead  of  'your  Father  in  heaven.'  Of 
course  I'm  not  personal,  auntie.  I  don't  mean  that  you  are 
not  always  actuated  by  unselfish  motives,  for  your  life  hag 
been  a  proof  of  your  loving  kindness,  but  most  people  take 
sociology  as  a  tonic  for  tired  consciences.  I  have  nagged  you 
into  a  bad  humor  but  when  you  get  over  it  you  will  enjoy 
the  gay  whirl  again." 

"For  the  land's  sake,  Anne  Crawford,"  Miss  Hamilton  an 
swered  indignantly,  ' '  do  you  think  I  'm  crazy  or  that  I  could 
ever  like  this  big  city  where  humanity  stews  or  freezes,  and 
you  can  live  for  years  without  knowing  your  next  door  neigh 
bor?  If  it  wasn't  for  you,  I'd  go  straight  home  as  fast  as 
the  Express  could  take  me." 

Anne  sighed  and  looked  solemn.  She  did  not  know  it,  but 
society  was  as  unsatisfying  to  her  as  it  was  to  her  aunt  and 
the  influence  of  Seymour's  teachings  were  bearing  fruit.  She 
did  not  want  to  belong  to  the  idle  rich.  She  came  from  a 
thoughtful,  steadfast,  brave  race,  and  her  ancestors  had 
known  their  convictions  and  lived  up  to  them.  The  general 
stir  in  the  social  world  and  the  demonstrations  she  had  seen 
and  heard  of  among  the  working  people  made  her  realize  that 
something  was  gravely  wrong,  and  gradually  she  was  awaken 
ing  to  the  uselessness  of  the  life  she  led. 

"I  am  proud  and  stiff-necked,  and  terribly  selfish,"  she 
admitted  to  herself.  "Do  you  remember  what  Mr.  Seymour 
used  to  tell  me?"  she  asked  her  aunt,  "about  tainted 
money — " 

"My  dear,"  Miss  Hamilton  answered  sharply,  "our  money 
is  not  tainted." 

"I  was  only  wondering — " 

"Well,  don't  wonder  too  much.  You'd  find  it  mighty  dis 
agreeable  to  be  without  the  mighty  dollar.  You  can  do  your 
duty  without  destroying  the  peace  of  mind  a  good  income  in- 


AN  ACCIDENT.  195 

sures."  Miss  Hamilton  was  very  much  embarrassed  because 
she  was  a  church  woman,  an  earnest  worker  among  the  poor, 
and  a  greater  philanthropist  than  was  generally  known. 
She  concluded  that  improper  ideas  of  benevolence  might  de 
velop  charitable  snobs.  ''Remember  your  blessings  and  be 
happy,  '  to  be  merry  does  best  become  you, '  ! '  she  quoted. 
"Smile  and  restrain  exaggerated  fancies.  You  look  as  glum 
as  an  owl." 

"Let  us  go  somewhere  and  make  an  evening  of  it  among 
new  surroundings — just  you  and  I,"  Anne  suggested.  "Let 
us  make  believe  that  we  don't  know  a  soul  in  the  city  and 
are  travelling,  with  a  few  hours  and  fewer  dollars  to  throw 
away.  Let  us  ride  on  the  street  cars  and  go  to  a  restaurant 
downtown  and  visit  the  '  movies. '  ' 

"But  we  wouldn't  know  how  to  get  around.  You  wouldn't 
know  where  to  go."  Miss  Hamilton  demurred,  alarmed  at 
the  thought  of  running  around  Washington  after  dark  with 
out  an  escort.  "It  seems  very  foolish  to  go  to  strange  places 
when  you  have  every  comfort  at  home  and — " 

"But  we  can  always  have  'home,'  "  Anne  interrupted,  "I 
want  to  steal  you  away  and  see  something  different.  I'll  be 
your  beau." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Miss  Hamilton  was  delighted  to  see 
the  old  cajolery  returning  to  Anne's  manner  and  beamed  her 
consent.  The  footman  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  the 
"ladies,"  plainly  dressed,  go  from  the  house  on  foot,  and 
without  leaving  any  instructions,  walk  briskly  along  the  street 
and  turn  the  corner. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  he  hunted  up  Dora,  hoping 
to  enjoy  a  little  gossip  with  the  middle-aged  woman  who  had 
awakened  ambitious  sentiments  in  his  youthful  heart.  But 
Dora,  although  very  much  puzzled  that  her  beloved  Miss 
Anne  had  not  confided  in  her,  did  not  appear  pleased  with 
the  man's  inquisitiveness  and  loftily  informed  him  that  he 


196  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

was  paid  to  be  seen  and  not  heard,  and  the  knight-of-the- 
front-door  retreated,  feeling  very  much  like  a  reproved  child. 

"Hurry,  auntie!"  Anne  saw  an  approaching  car  and 
signalled  it  to  stop.  She  did  not  dare  to  smile  when  she 
bustled  Miss  Hamilton  up  the  steps  and  paid  the  fare,  for 
the  breathless  lady  was  squeezed  between  two  fat  men.  When 
the  conductor  called  their  street  they  slowly  pushed  through 
the  crush  of  men  and  women,  and  stepped  to  the  pavement. 

Their  first  impression  was  of  bewilderment  but  the  subtle 
pleasure  of  being  included  in  the  great  work-a-day  world 
permeated  them  and  joining  the  people  passing  and  ignoring 
them,  they  moved  along  with  the  crowd. 

"Oh,  my  dear!  What  a  dreadful  hurry  everyone  is  in," 
Miss  Hamilton  cried  with  an  excited  laugh,  "they  all  seem 
to  be  going  somewhere.," 

"We're  going  somewhere,  too,"  Anne  flashed,  "we're  on 
our  way." 

A  brilliantly  lighted  restaurant,  with  white  draped  win 
dows  through  which  palms  and  candle-shaded  tables  could  be 
seen,  conveyed  an  invitation. 

"This  place  looks  nice,"  Anne  exclaimed  impetuously,  and 
guided  her  aunt  through  the  door.  The  head-waiter  escorted 
them  with  quiet  ceremony  to  a  small  table  at  the  side  of  the 
long  room,  and  a  waiter  brought  napkins  and  glasses,  leaving 
a  pencil  and  pad  beside  each  plate.  The  place  was  almost 
filled  with  quiet  men  and  women,  well-dressed  and  well-man 
nered. 

"Let  us  try  their  regular  dinner,"  suggested  Anne.  "It 
may  be  very  good." 

"We  don't  have  to  eat  it  if  it  isn't,"  her  aunt  answered. 
"I  suppose  this  is  what  is  called  being  'Bohemian.' 

Anne  laughed  merrily.  She  wondered  what  Miss  Hamilton 
would  have  said  if  she  knew  of  some  of  the  "Bohemian  rev 
els"  Hugh  had  enjoyed  in  his  student  days,  and  which  he  had 
explained  to  his  wife  with  embarrassing  frankness,  but  she 


AN  ACCIDENT.  197 

kept  her  thoughts  to  herself  and  looked  with  interest  at  the 
waiters  carrying  dishes.  Both  women  were  hungry,  and  dur 
ing  the  first  portion  of  the  dinner  openly  enjoyed  its  excel 
lence.  The  service  was  admirable  and  when  the  coffee  was 
brought  they  were  in  splendid  humor.  It  was  almost  eight 
o'clock  when  they  left  the  restaurant,  and  they  knew  where 
they  would  spend  the  evening. 

Looking  through  the  amusement  column  in  the  evening 
paper  they  decided  upon  a  picture  house  in  the  vicinity  and, 
after  paying  their  bill,  again  joined  the  mass  of  men  and 
women  walking  in  the  street. 

A  group  stood  at  the  door  of  the  theatre,  and  Anne  drew 
her  aunt  to  the  entrance,  but  she  had  forgotten  to  buy 
tickets  and  had  to  retreat. 

"Isn't  it  fun,"  she  whispered.  "I  never  realized  how 
useful  a  man  can  be.  I  feel  a  better  appreciation  of  the 
sterner  sex." 

But  Miss  Hamilton  did  not  like  to  be  pushed  and  crowded, 
and  was  too  worried  to  share  Anne's  joyous  mood,  though  she 
clung  to  the  slim  arm  holding  her  own  and  intended  to  act 
as  if  she  were  having  a  good  time. 

In  a  twinkling  they  were  in  the  darkened  playhouse  and 
seated.  The  tired  woman  settled  herself  in  her  chair  and  her 
timidity  gave  way  to  delight,  for  the  pictures  Avere  good, 
portraying  the  minutest  details  of  a  rural  romance.  While  she 
watched  the  figures  moving  among  the  trees  and  long  grasses, 
she  sank  even  more  happily  in  her  seat.  Sunlight  seemed 
to  be  flooding  the  scene,  and  in  the  background,  the  perspec 
tive  rolled  into  promising  harvests. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  she  whispered.  "It  reminds  me  of  the 
fields  at  home." 

Anne  made  no  answer,  but  squeezed  her  aunt's  arm.  She 
liked  the  pictures,  but  was  more  soothed  by  the  sweet  persua 
sive  tones  of  the  violin  vibrating  in  a  minor  key,  and  her  mind 
was  resting.  She  felt  more  tranquil  than  she  had  for  months. 


198  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

.  When  they  groped  their  way  through  the  semi-darkness 
and  paused  in  the  lighted  foyer,  the  lights  were  bewildering. 

"Are  you  tired?"  she  asked.    "Where  shall  we  go  now?" 

"Suppose  we  go  home?" 

"It  has  been  quite  an  exciting  day,  and  it  will  be  nice 
to  get  our  things  off.  You've  been  a  darling  to  humor  me." 

They  waited  patiently  for  the  street  car.  Time  had  crept 
upon  them  unaware  and  it  was  after  ten  o  'clock  before  they 
reached  their  residence.  The  few  hours  of  different  environ 
ment  awakened  a  curious,  delightful  appreciation  of  homo, 
and  Anne  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction  when  she 
entered  the  house.  Contentment  filled  her  heart  and  she 
was  in  a  tender  mood  when  she  insisted  on  Miss  Hamilton 
coming  to  her  boudoir  where  she  placed  her  in  her  own 
favorite  chair. 

' '  Now  sit  still  and  let  me  wait  on  you, ' '  she  insisted,  and 
drew  the  pins  from  Miss  Hamilton's  hat.  "You're  not 
afraid  of  being  kept  awake,  are  you?  Would  you  like  a 
cup  of  tea?" 

A  decided  tap  came  on  the  door  and  without  waiting  for 
permission,  Dora  entered  the  room  with  a  telegram  in  her 
hand. 

"This  has  just  come,  Miss  Anne,"  she  apologized.  "I 
thought  you'd  want  it  at  once." 

Anne  extended  her  arm  and  took  the  message.  She 
helped  Miss  Hamilton  remove  her  wraps  and  laid  aside  her 
own  furs,  while  Dora  made  tea,  then  she  carelessly  tore  off 
the  end  of  the  envelope  she  had  kept  crushed  in  her  hands. 

As  she  read,  her  face  seemed  to  age  and  grow  black  with 
anger  and  her  full  red  lips  tightened  into  a  red  line. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  now?"  Miss  Hamilton  de 
manded  irritably.  "God  bless  us,  Anne.  You  look  like  a 
fury." 

Anne  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  as  if  to  loosen  the  already 
free  collar.  She  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  bitter  rage 


AN  ACCIDENT.  199 

and  satisfaction.  At  last  she  was  going  to  have  the  gratifica 
tion  of  returning  the  insults  and  humiliations  her  husband 
had  showered  on  her  in  this  very  house  to  which  he  now 
desired  to  return — the  house  where  she  had  lived  for  six 
long  years,  trying  to  forget  him. 

She  flung  the  message  into  Miss  Hamilton's  lap,  crying, 
"Read  that." 

The  tired  old  woman  wearily  passed  her  glasses  over  her 
eyes  and  read: 

' '  Am  in  New  York.    Will  be  with  you  to-morrow  night. 

HUGH  CRAWFORD." 

She  forgot  her  fatigue  and  jumped  to  her  feet. 

' '  Oh,  Anne, ' '  she  exclaimed, ' '  Have  you  been  corresponding 
with  Hugh?  Have  you  made  up?" 

' '  No,  indeed  I  have  not ! "  .  Anne 's  face  was  distorted  with 
flaming  anger.  ' '  I  have  not  heard  directly  from  him  for  years, 
and  I  have  never  answered  his  letters.  I  did  not  know  he 
was  in  America.  But  I  am  glad  I  am  to  have  the  chance  to 
show  him  how  I  despise  him — how  I  detest  him." 

"Don't  see  him,  dear,"  her  aunt  pleaded.  "He  always 
had  a  powerful  influence  over  you  and  he  was  your  husband, 
but  Anne,  he  is  less  than  a  stranger  to  you  now.  An  inter 
view  will  only  re-open  old  wounds  and  it  can  do  no  good.  He 
wants  something  or  he  would  not  come  to  you. ' ' 

"Of  course  he  wants  something,"  Anne  answered  quickly. 
"Can't  you  understand  that  I'm  glad  he's  coming?  What 
ever  he  wants  will  be  refused.  I  am  a  different  being  from 
the  girl  he  insulted  and  deserted,  and  I  want  to  order  him  out 
of  my  house.  I  want  to  hurt  him — humiliate  him — disgrace 
him." 

"Tut,  tut!"  Miss  Hamilton  objected.  ""Melodrama  is  all 
very  effective  in  novels  and  with  play-actors,  but  you  're  living 
in  the  twentieth  century  and  the  laws  of  your  country  freed 
you  from  him — at  your  own  request,  and  if  you  make  a 


200  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

hysterical  show  of  yourself,  you'll  be  the  laughing  stock  of 
every  one.  If  you  don't  want  to  see  him,  tell  your  butler 
not  to  admit  him  or  let  me  have  a  few  words  with  him.  It 
would  do  us  both  good. ' ' 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room  and  Anne,  seized  with  sudden 
remorse,  put  her  arms  around  the  old  lady's  neck. 

"We'll  talk  it  over  in  the  morning,  dear,"  she  promised. 
"Dora  will  take  your  tea  to  you,  now — I  want  to  be  alone. 
I'm  going  to  think  it  all  out  by  myself,  auntie,  but  I  want 
you  to  forgive  me  for  bringing  such  trouble  to  you.  Be 
patient  with  me — and  love  me." 

"Why,  bless  you,  child!"  her  aunt  cried  with  streaming 
eyes,  "I'd  love  you  even  if  you  were  fool  enough  to  re-marry 
the  wretch." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  Warning. 


201 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  WABNING. 

Since  Crawford's  last  visit  to  Paris  the  seasons  had  passed 
quickly  and  gayly ;  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and  winter,  com 
ing  with  hopes  and  promises,  and  each  in  its  passing  making 
room  for  its  follower.  The  American,  as  well-groomed  and 
superbly  conceited  as  ever,  roamed  from  city  to  city,  rest 
lessly  seeking  amusement  and  self-indulgence. 

He  frequently  spent  a  few  weeks  in  Vienna  when  the 
Ramoniffs  were  there,  sunning  himself  in  the  warmth  of  the 
smiles  of  the  beautiful  Sonia.  He  tried  to  appear  indifferent 
when  she  rallied  him  about  his  amours  but  his  vanity  told  him 
that  a  real  jealousy  lay  under  her  laughing  words. 

"You  laugh  and  drink  and  enjoy  what  you  think  is  life," 
she  told  him  one  evening  when  they  were  together  in  the 
lovely  gardens  of  her  home  in  Vienna,  ' '  but  you  do  not  know 
yourself.  You  have  never  found  the  real  Hugh.  Life  has 
been  too  pleasant  for  you,  and  you  need  incentive,  work, 
struggle,  to  know  the  joy  of  living." 

"You  are  growing  very  wise,  my  beautiful  Sonia,"  Craw 
ford  replied  as  he  guided  her  to  a  seat.  The  sweet,  warm  air 
touched  their  faces  as  gently  as  a  caress,  and  he  smiled  under 
the  cover  of  the  shadows.  "I  don't  say  you  are  wrong  and 
you  may  be  right,  but  don't  think  of  sage  advice,  or  common 
sense.  Think  only  of  this  wonderful  night  and  sentiment,  and 
love,  and  think  a  little  of  my  adoration  for  you." 

She  laughed  lightly,  but  lay  her  hand  wearily  on  his  arm. 

"Hugh,  you  do  not  really  care  for  anyone.  You  cultivate 
pretty  women  and  are  agreeable  to  them,  as  you  are  to  me, 
simply  because  you  find  us  amusing,  but  you  are  never  seri 
ous." 

203 


204  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"I  am  serious  when  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you,"  Crawford 
protested.  "You  are  too  proud  to  me,  Sonia.  If  you  would 
only  give  me  proof  that  you  cared  for  me,  there  never  would 
be  anyone  else." 

He  held  her  hand  closely  between  his  own  and  bent  his 
head  to  her,  then  lifting  the  soft  fingers  to  his  lips,  kissed 
each  rosy  tip. 

Madame  Ramoiiiff  laughed,  but  did  not  withdraw  her  hand. 
A  fleeting  impulse  to  send  Crawford  away — a  half-resolve 
to  break  their  friendship — a  consciousness  that  their  esteem 
was  growing  too  much  like  love — crossed  her  brain,  but  she 
hesitated  and  the  feeling  was  unheeded.  With  graceful  im 
petuosity  she  rose  to  her  feet  and,  followed  by  the  American, 
wandered  along  the  shadowy  path  that  led  to  the  house. 

"You  are  unkind  to  me,"  he  murmured  while  he  walked 
beside  her.  Crawford  was  weak  by  disposition  and  his  passion 
made  him  imagine  he  was  madly  in  love,  though  in  reality  it 
was  the  fever  of  desire — the  longing  to  possess  this  beautiful 
woman,  that  consumed  him. 

"That  is  not  true.  I  am  very  good  to  you — always,"  she 
responded  with  the  brilliant  animation  that  was  one  of  her 
many  charms.  "I  think  you  should  be  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world." 

"Why  should  I  be  happy  when  the  only  woman  I  care  for 
in  all  the  world,  is  not  kind  to  me  ? " 

They  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  stately  mansion  and  passed 
up  the  ornately  ornamented  staircase.  The  magnificently 
florid  decorations,  the  effulgent  chandeliers,  the  rare  tapestries 
and  works  of  art,  made  a  fitting  setting  for  the  splendid 
looking  man  and  superb  woman. 

Madame  Ramoniff  were  a  richly  embroidered  dinner  gown. 
She  carried  her  train  over  her  arm  as  she  had  lifted  it  in  the 
garden,  and  its  pliant  folds  fell  like  a  shimmering  scarf  from 
her  perfect  arm.  On  the  laces  clouding  her  white  breast, 


A  WARNING.  205 

diamonds  sparkled  and  gleamed,  and  her  eyes  glowed  brighter 
than  her  jewels. 

Boris  Ramoniff  watched  her  moving  among  their  friends, 
her  cheeks  glowing,  and  evidently  delighted  to  be  in  the  com 
pany  of  the  American. 

She  bowed  carelessly  to  her  husband  when  he  came  forward. 

' '  Sonia  is  very  lovely,  but  she  is  also  very  foolish, ' '  he  mut 
tered  to  himself,  and  an  amused  tolerance  showed  in  his  wife 's 
smile  when  he  calmly  moved  to  her  side,  and  with  a  word  of 
dismissal  to  Crawford,  she  turned  from  him  to  her  husband. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Boris?"  she  asked  kindly.  "Have 
you  too  been  in  the  garden?  The  night  is  perfect." 

"I  have  been  with  the  children,"  he  answered  coldly.  "I 
will  be  glad  when  we  return  to  Russia." 

An  impatient  reply  rose  to  Sonia 's  lips,  but  she  repressed 
it.  She  knew  that  Ramoniff 's  words  were  intended  to  con 
vey  a  reproof — that  he  thought  she  shirked  her  duties  and 
neglected  her  children,  but  she  answered  pleasantly, 

"You  know  I  do  not  love  Russia  as  you  do,  Boris,  but  it  is 
your  country,  and  the  children  were  born  there.  They  are 
always  happy  to  return  to  Petersburg." 

"Why  not  go  with  them  to  our  estates  in  the  Interior.  At 
this  time  of  the  year  the  country  will  be  delightful.  It  would 
please  me,  Sonia." 

' '  This  is  hardly  the  hour  to  speak  of  it,  Boris,  but  I  could 
not  think  of  going  there  now.  You  must  consider  my  feel 
ings — a  little." 

Ramoniff  reddened  under  his  dark  skin,  but  he  was  aware 
that  his  amiable  wife  would  allow  nothing  to  interfere  with 
her  amusements,  and  no  thought  of  himself,  or  their  two  beau 
tiful  boys  in  the  nursery,  would  influence  her  to  change  her 
plans  for  a  season  of  gayety.  But  he  adored  her,  and  though 
chagrined  at  her  constant  disregard  of  his  wishes,  did  not  try 
to  assert  his  authority. 


206  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

''She  is  the  mother  of  my  boys.  She  is  my  wife  and  she 
loves  me,"  he  thought  while  he  watched  her  moving  awar 
from  him. 

Sonia  Ramoniff  was  sauntering  through  the  rooms  expect 
ing  to  find  Crawford  waiting  for  her,  but  he  had  returned 
to  the  garden.  She  wondered  if  he  were  alone  and,  with  a 
little  laugh  at  her  thoughts,  joined  a  group  watching  one  of 
the  card  tables. 

Boris  Ramoniff  watched,  but  did  not  again  approach  her, 
and  his  thin  face  gave  no  indication  of  the  thoughts  teeming 
through  his  brain. 


In  October  the  Ramoniffs  were  in  Paris.  Of  course  they 
again  met  Crawford  at  the  houses  of  mutual  friends.  They 
dined  and  motored,  and  Boris  Ramoniff  spent  many  hours  at 
his  clubs,  and  a  few  on  the  Bourse,  while  his  wife  was  one 
of  the  most  admired  beauties,  apparently  unconscious  of  the 
admiring  attention  she  excited  whenever  she  appeared.  Her 
daring  was  marvellous  and  her  vivacious  animation  astonishing, 
but  she  did  not  consider  that  she  was  doing  anything  wrong  in 
taxing  the  toleration  of  her  friends  and  her  husband 's  patience. 

When  she  motored  through  the  Champs  Ely  sees  with  her  two 
boys  beside  her,  she  was  a  picture,  sweet  and  maternal. 

She  was  riding  with  her  children  on  a  crisp  morning,  en 
joying  the  biting  air,  when  at  the  entrance  to  the  "Bois," 
her  car  passed  the  coupe  of  the  Marquise  Tania.  With  a 
haughty  glance,  Sonia  Ramoniff  looked  at  the  mysterious  and 
elegant  Russian  woman  she  had  frequently  met  when  Boris 
Ramoniff  first  took  her  as  a  bride  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  witli 
a  shock,  met  Hugh  Crawford's  blue  eyes. 

He  was  seated  by  the  Marquise,  but  with  discretion,  forced 
his  eyes  to  glance  away  from  the  lovely  mother. 

Sonia  Ramoniff  felt  her  lips  grow  cold.  She  knew  the 
history  of  the  Marquise — knew  that  she  was  ostracised  by 


A  WARNING.  207 

society,  and  had  been  banished  from  Russia  on  account  of 
her  intrigues,  and  Sonia  indignantly  wondered  why  Craw 
ford  should  allow  himself  to  be  seen  with  her. 

''I  will  tell  Hugh  who  she  is.  It  is  all  very  well  to  have 
sympathy  and  to  be  generous,  but  he  can  find  friends  less 
dangerous  than  'the  Marquise  Tania.'  " 

She  did  not  know  that  jealousy  prompted  the  sudden  resolu 
tion,  and  was  quite  unaware  that  Crawford's  inclination  for 
the  society  of  the  Russian  woman  caused  her  to  feel  hurt  and 
offended. 

That  evening  Crawford  went  to  see  her.  She  was  alone 
when  his  card  was  brought  to  her,  and  her  face  flushed  and 
her  heart  thrilled  agreeably. 

She  saluted  him  graciously  and  smiled  softly  while  she 
fumbled  with  a  string  of  pearls  that  caressed  her  throat  and 
fell  belew  her  waist. 

"There  is  something  I  want  to  tell  you,  Hugh,"  she  said 
hesitatingly,  "It  is  about  the  woman  I  saw  with  you  today, 
the  Marquise  Tania.  I  want  to  give  you  a  warning." 

Sonia  Ramoniff  was  dressed  in  a  soft,  silken  gown  of  pink, 
and  the  string  of  magnificent  pearls  around  her  throat  were 
her  only  jewels.  Her  face  looked  lovely,  her  hair  more 
tawny,  her  eyes  more  like  sapphires  and  her  beauty  seemed 
more  alluring  than  ever  to  Crawford  when  he  looked  at  her, 
surprised  that  this  aristocratic,  delicate  mondaine  should 
speak  to  him  of  Tania.  He  did  not  feel  any  affection  for  the 
Russian,  but  he  remembered  her  unfaltering  fondness,  her 
unchanging  good  nature  and  flattering  attentions.  Tania  had 
treated  him  well — had  been  more  than  kind  to  him,  and  his 
American  love  of  fairness  made  him  resentful  when  her  name 
was  mentioned  unpleasantly,  even  by  the  woman  whose  favor 
he  was  trying  to  win.  He  hoped  Sonia  was  not  going  to  tell 
him  any  unpleasant  history.  He  didn't  want  to  hear  it. 

"She  is  not  permitted  to  enter  Russia,"  babbled  Sonia, 
"and  her  father  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous — 


208  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

''Oh,  I  say!"  Crawford  interrupted,  flushing  deeply.  "I 
won't  ride  with  her  if  you  don't  want  me  to,  but  don't  let  us 
discuss  her,  or  her  unhappy  past.  She  has  been  uncommonly 
pleasant  to  me,  and  you  and  she  are  as  far  apart  as  if  you 
lived  on  different  planets." 

"But  she  is  under  surveillance,  Hugh." 

"All  right,  dear!  I'll  be  careful.  Can't  you  understand 
that  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  of  her.  She's  a  good  sort,  but 
she's  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  fence.  Tell  me  of  yourself  and 
of  your  plans.  When  are  you  going  to  Russia  ? ' ' 

Madame  Ramoniff  smoothed  a  crease  in  her  gown  with  a 
rosy  forefinger. 

"We  leave  here  in  a  month  or  six  weeks — perhaps  before. 
Are  you  coming  to  St.  Petersburg  this  winter?" 

' '  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for 
you.  I  would  follow  you  to  the  end  of  the  world  for  a  word 
of  welcome." 

"That  is  very  sweetly  said,  but  there  are  many  attractions 
in  St.  Petersburg, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  And  you  know  I  am  always 
glad  to  see  my  friends — and  especially  you.  Do  you  remem 
ber  when  I  taught  you  the  mazouka  ?  You  were  such  a  hand 
some  boy.  It  was  long  before  you  were  married." 

"  I  do  remember.  I  shall  never  forget  when  I  first  saw  you. 
I  was  heartbroken  to  learn  that  you  had  a  husband,  although 
you  were  too  noble — too  high  for  me,"  Crawford  murmured 
moodily.  ' '  Love  does  not  level  rank  in  spite  of  intermarriages. 
It  is  money  that  apparently  equalizes  classes." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  sad  Hugh,"  she  tantalized,  "but  I  was  mar 
ried  before  I  met  you,  and  you  did  not  marry  your  gentle 
wife  until  long  after. "  She  laughed  musically.  "So  you  were 
not  so  much  attached  to  me  after  all." 

"Do  not  speak  of  my  marriage  or  my  wife,"  he  cried 
sharply,  and  Sonia  was  delighted  to  see  an  expression  of  pain 
cross  his  face.  She  did  not  know  of  the  serious  trouble  be- 
between  Crawford  and  Anne,  and  thought  he  repented  his 


A  WARNING.  209 

marriage  on  her  account.  ' '  I  have  but  one  wish — one  desire, ' ' 
Crawford  continued  passionately.  ''It  is  to  be  near  you. 
Will  you  ask  me  to  meet  you  in  St.  Petersburg  ? ' ' 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Was  it  the  voice  of  destiny  that  whispered  the  sudden  warn 
ing  that  made  her  struggle  against  Crawford's  influence. 

"Yes!"  she  added  clearly,  "we  both  shall  be  very  glad." 

"Yes,  we  both  shall  be  very  glad." 

Boris  Ramoniff  did  not  appear  to  notice  the  consternation 
on  the  faces  of  the  man  and  woman  who  looked  at  him  with 
amazement.  Each  was  wondering  how  long  he  had  been  in 
the  room.  But  they  need  not  have  feared,  for  Ramoniff  ha'd 
only  heard,  "We  both  shall  be  very  glad,"  and  the  hus 
band's  heart  was  happy. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Revolutionists. 


211 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  REVOLUTIONISTS. 

Although  he  was  being  dragged  into  a  net  of  alarming 
circumstances  and  mysterious  plots  and  catastrophe  loomed 
ahead  of  him,  nothing  unusual  seemed  to  have  happened 
to  Crawford. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  assistant  and  associate  of 
revolutionists  and  ignorantly  served  the  cleverest  and  most 
energetic  society  in  Europe. 

He  abandoned  himself  to  excesses,  using  up  his  splendid 
vitality  in  eager  but  ineffectual  efforts  to  forget  the  divorce, 
and  a  vindictive  hatred  of  Keene,  who  had  sent  him  the 
notice  of  the  decree,  rose  up  in  him.  For  days  he  hid  him 
self  in  his  charming  apartment,  watched  over  by  the  devoted 
Saunders,  until  Paris  gayeties  gradually  overcame  his  rnood- 
iness,  and  he  forgot  a  great  deal — even  conscience  and 
self-respect. 

He  was  a  constant  caller  at  the  Marquise  Tania's  home. 

There  was  no  denying  the  beauty  of  the  Russian  woman 
who  used  every  charm  to  appeal  to  the  American's  senses 
and,  with  tactful  skill,  held  his  confidence.  Her  rooms 
were  always  gay  and  attractive,  and  often  crowded  with 
men  and  women  celebrated  on  the  stage,  or  in  brilliant,  if' 
questionable  society ;  laughing,  drinking,  smoking  and  gam 
bling.  Many  of  the  women  were  young  and  wore  costly 
clothes  and  many  jewels,  and  the  men,  intelligent  and 
genial,  joined  them  in  flattering  attentions  to  the  wealthy 
Crawford. 

But  he  did  not  know  that  sometimes  the  Marquise  Tania, 
dressed  as  a  servant,  would  e'scape  the  watchful  eyes  of  the 
Paris  authorities  and  leave  the  aristocratic  neighborhood 

213 


214  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

where  she  lived,  and  join  the  members  of  the  Cause  in  the 
poorest  part  of  the  city;  but  when  special  meetings  were 
called,  the  revolutionists  gathered  in  the  severely  furnished 
chamber  in  her  apartment,  some  dressed  as  if  for  a  night  of 
gayety  and  others  as  middle-class  merchants,  while  many 
wore  the  garb  of  servants  or  ouvriers.  Among  the  zealous 
workers  could  be  found  men  trusted  and  honored  in  the 
highest  positions  of  State,  whose  intimate  knowledge  of 
affairs  made  them  powerful  and  invaluable  members.  Then 
the  doors  would  be  guarde.d  by  stalwart  men,  and  the 
assembly  would  be  seated  before  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
gliding  to  her  seat  of  honor,  would  still  the  murmur  of 
half-stifled  whispers  by  a  gesture  which  brought  dead 
silence,  and  with  eyes  challenging  the  burning  eyes  staring 
at  her,  she  breathed  one  word,  which  was  answered  by  a 
unanimous  response. 

Hugh  Crawford  would  have  been  amazed  to  hear  his  own 
name  occasionally  mentioned,  although,  as  the  "chien  de 
Tama,"  he  was  more  frequently  spoken  of,  for  as  the  faith 
ful  dog  who  fetched  and  carried  dangerous  messages  at  her 
command,  he  was  scoffed  at  by  this  powerful  society;  not 
because  he  served  their  leader,  but  because  his  weak  suscept 
ibility  to  flattery,  and  not  his  interest  in  any  attacks  on 
individuals  or  governments,  made  him  a  helpful,  though 
unconscious  agent. 

It  was  early  December  and  Crawford  was  preparing  to 
leave  France  for  Russia. 

The  Marquise  Tania  knew  of  this  and  for  that  very  reason 
had  called  together  the  group  of  men  united  in  devotion  to 
their  Cause.  The  premeditated  journey  of  the  unsuspicious 
American  acted  like  a  tonic  to  most  of  the  faithful  band 
who  had  assumed  the  dangerous  role  of  "Liberators"  and 
imparted  new  strength  of  spirit  and  energy  of  mind  to 
upset  the  nations,  and  in  its  place  set  up  what  they  consist 
ently  believed  to  be  liberty. 


THE  REVOLUTIONISTS.  215 

Down  deep  in  the  soul  of  every  one  lies  a  sleeping  indi 
viduality.  Sometimes  it  is  never  awakened,  and  men  live 
and  die  without  knowing  their  own  characters,  and  have 
no  idea  of  their  own  capacity  for  good  or  evil.  They  are 
enslaved  by  the  bonds  of  habit  and  convention ;  but  the  men 
in  Tania  's  apartment,  looking  at  her  with  genuine  affection, 
knew  the  fierce  contest  of  life,  had  been  aroused  against  the 
authority  that  seemed  bondage  to  them  and,  desiring  no 
compromise  or  moderation,  lived  and  struggled — were  pre 
pared  to  die  for  their  ideal. 

Tania  was  the  only  woman  in  the  room  and  all  the  faces 
(Avith  the  exception  of  the  girlish-looking  Schmoltze)  were 
Russian. 

' '  We  are  facing  a  most  critical  period. ' ' 

Tania  spoke  quietly  and  clearly,  every  word  vibrating 
like  a  bell. 

As  he  slunk  toward  her,  Schmoltze  murmured  a  question 
to  which  she  smiled  and  nodded  an  affirmative  before  con 
tinuing — 

"It  is  his  wish  and  Schmoltze  will  be  on  the  train  with 
Olga,  when  Crawford  leaves  Berlin.  It  requires  great  cool 
ness  and  courage,  but  there  is  not  one  of  us  who  would  not 
gladly  sacrifice  life  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  Everything 
is  in  readiness,  and  as  soon  as  they  pass  the  German  border, 
they  will  be  with  friends.  Damisoff  will  be  waiting  at  the 
frontier. ' ' 

"Are  you  sure  of  the  American?"  the  chauffeur  Gil 
bert,  still  in  his  leathers,  asked  uneasily.  "Crawford  has 
never  carried  anything  so  important  as  this.  He  may  be 
leading  us  into  the  hands  of  the  police.  He  may  have  been 
drawing  us  on,  making  us  believe  him  ignorant  so  as  to 
gain  possession  of  this  very  thing. ' ' 

"He  is  an  American  and  rich.  He  has  never  known  the 
struggle  of  life  or  the  longing  for  liberty.  He  is  arrogant 
and  self-satisfied,  with  an  aversion  to  everything  revolution- 


216  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

ary,  but  he  is  credulous  and  harmless.  We  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  him.  I  stake  my  life  on  his  safeness. " 

With  an  impetuous  gesture  Tania  pointed  to  a  piece  of 
paper  lying  on  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  It  was 
covered  with  minute  characters  and  lines,  and  so  thin  that 
it  could  be  rolled  into  a  wad  the  size  of  a  good-sized  bean. 
The  men  left  their  seats  and  formed  a  circle,  and  when 
Tania  presented  the  sheet,  they  passed  it  from  hand  to  hand, 
silent  and  implacable,  apparently  still  in  doubt  as  to  trusting 
the  precious  script  into  hands  not  pledged  to  the  Cause. 

Suddenly  she  broke  the  circle  and  faced  them  like  a 
tigress.  She  was  descended  from  a  line  of  power-hating 
ancestors,  and  her  marriage  into  thev  aristocracy  had  not 
changed  her,  although  in  manner  she  was  gentle  and  refined. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  valuable  workers,  her  suavity  and 
culture  assisting  her  in  her  never-wavering  loyalty  and  she 
had  converted  her  husband  to  the  Cause.  But  her  habitual 
elegant  blandness  disappeared  before  the  fierce,  stern  hatred 
of  the  power  which  had  sent  her  husband  to  slave  and  die 
in  Siberia  and  which  had  killed  her  father  before  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  know!  You  think  I  love  the  American  too  well 
to  put  him  in  danger."  She  turned  with  blazing  eyes  to 
Gilbert,  who  had  been  at  the  wheel  of  her  car  when  she  and 
Crawford  had  frequently  motored  together.  ' '  I  do  not  deny 
that  I  love  him,  but  individual  sentiments  are  not  in  ques 
tion.  I  am  only  a  unit.  I  promise  that  the  paper  leaves 
Paris  with  Crawford  and  reaches  Russia.  My  life  to  be  the 
forfeit  if  it  arrives  in  any  hands  but  Olga's." 

"Do  not  forget  that  he  surprised  us  once.  Six  years  ago 
he  caught  us  unawares.  He  was  suspicious  then.  He  has 
spoken  of  Marino's  song — 

"Pouf !  He  was  not  suspicious!  He  was  inquisitive  for 
the  moment,  but  he  has  forgotten  that  little  scene.  I 
know  it." 


THE  REVOLUTIONISTS.  217 

"What  will  you  tell  him?  He  will  be  here  to-night,  will 
lie  not .'  When  will  you  give  it  into  his  possession?" 

The  speaker,  Etienne  Marenski,  bald,  blond,  with  droop 
ing  eyelids  and  moustache,  looked  at  Tania  with  sharp 
anxiety. 

"To-morrow  I  shall  take  it  to  him.  Gilbert  and  Marie 
will  be  with  me.  It  will  be  safer  with  him  than  it  is  with 
us." 

She  was  bitterly  disappointed  that  her  judgment  in  choos 
ing  the  American  to  be  the  messenger  was  challenged.  They 
were  not  dealing  with  a  woman,  but  the  representative  of 
a  power,  and  she  had  diplomacy  enough  not  to  betray  her 
reproach.  "Do  you  think  I  forget  how  Michael  died?"  she 
cried.  "Do  you  imagine  I  forget  my  father?"  Her  beauti 
ful  lips  trembled  when  she  breathlessly  continued :  ' '  This 
Crawford  has  been  useful  to  me  ever  since  he  brought  the 
letter  of  introduction  from  our  comrade  in  Berlin.  He  is 
not  a  bad  sort  and  has  frequently  been  kind  to  me,  but  he 
is  the  slave  of  passion.  At  present  it  is  Sonia  Ramoniff. 
She  is  drawing  him  to  Russia.  He  has  never  been  my  lover, 
but  if  he  were  my  life — my  all — I  would  sacrifice  him  to 
the  Cause.  War  is  approaching  rapidly — it  is  inevitable. 
Germany  has  been  preparing  ever  since  William  ascended 
the  throne — but  we  too  have  been  preparing.  Our  failures 
have  not  discouraged  us,  and  we  are  stronger  than  ever 
before.  When  the  Russians  take  up  arms  and  make  a  rush 
for  the  south  and  west,  the  persecution  and  surveillance 
of  our  comrades  at  home  will  temporarily  cease.  The  world 
thinks  we  are  so  weak  that  we  dare  not  strike,  and  do  not 
recognize  that  the  revolutionary  spirit  is  imperishable — and 
our  comrades  are  distributed  all  over  the  civilized  world. 
The  principles  of  peace  admit  the  necessity  of  revolution, 
and  when  these  plans  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Cause  in 
Russia,  they  will  wait  until  after  war  is  declared,  and  then 
find  the  opportunity  of  striking  decisively." 


218  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"But  suppose  Crawford  is  suspected?  He  is  known  to 
be  your  friend.  What  if  he  is  caught'  with  the  paper  in 
his  possession?"  Marenski  compressed  his  lips  and  looked 
questioningly  into  the  faces  around  him  and,  finding  an 
swering  nods  encouraging  him,  turned  directly  to  Tania. 
' '  Why  send  the  plans  at  present  ?  The  Czar  and  the  Kaiser 
will  not  impulsively  plunge  the  nations  into  war.  Their 
own  countries  will  not  be  left  without  military  protection. ' ' 

"Many  things  happen  unexpectedly,"  Schmoltze  broke 
in.  "Tania  is  under  surveillance,  but  they  have  never  been 
able  to  substantiate  their  suspicions,  and  she  is  allowed  to 
live  here — and  is  not  restricted.  She  is  cool-headed  and 
has  planned  this  coup  and  will  not  invite  failure  by  pre 
mature  action.  She  deserves  our  trust  and  confidence.  She 
has  given  her  pledge  to  the  Cause  and  has  dared  torture, 
peril — even  death,  for  no  reward;  for  we  offer  110  reward 
for  zeal,  save  loyalty  to  each  other  and  the  joy  of  being 
faithful  to  what  we  believe  is  right — and  death  awaits 
traitors.  It  is  evident  that  Crawford  is  not  under  suspicion, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  why  should  he  have  the  honor  of 
carrying  this  paper?  Let  me  do  it.  I  am  not  afraid  of  de 
tection.  No  one  will  dream  I  am  other  than  a  woman." 

"Perhaps  you  could  get  through,  though  I  doubt  it,  and 
you  would  be  missed  from  Paris.  Questions  would  arise. 
You  cannot  leave  here  until  the  day  after  Crawford  goes. 
If  you  are  taken  that  would  not  be  all."  Tank's  eyes  filled 
Avith  tears.  "Our  plans  would  be  found — our  hopes  de 
stroyed — our  revolt  doomed  to  failure.  We  can  take  no 
chances.  Crawford's  German  sympathies  and  German 
friends  among  the  aristocracy  will  divert  suspicion,  and 
he  alone  can  carry  the  paper  through  Germany  under  the 
arrogant,  penetrating,  ever-watchful  Germans  at  the  Capitol. 
Schmitt  will  meet  him  and  Olga  will  get  possession  of  the 
precious  document  after  he  leaves  Berlin.  Are  you  satisfied? 
Do  you  approve?" 


THE  REVOLUTIONISTS. 


219 


They  assentingly  nodded  and  gathered  around  the  slender 
woman  while  the  guttural  Russian  language  lost  its  throati- 
ness  and  seemed  to  sing  with  Italian  sweetness  from  her 
lips  when  she  said — 

"Come,  comrades,  it  is  getting  late  and  others  will  be 
here.  We  have  been  true  and  faithful  and  we  are  going  to 
make  history  that  will  reach  from  St.  Petersburg  to  the 
centres  of  civilization.  Right  will  prevail." 

She  swept  from  the  room  where  the  secret  meetings  were 
held  and,  with  an  inscrutable  smile  wreathing  her  lips, 
turned  to  the  salon  where,  calm  and  apparently  unruffled, 
she  prepared  to  receive  the  guests  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  Japanese  Idol. 


221 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  JAPANESE  IDOL. 

That  night  nothing  especial  happened  and  when  Crawford 
reached  the  Rue  Cherche  Midi,  which  he  did  late  that  even 
ing,  he  told  Tania  that  he  intended  leaving  Paris  the  fol 
lowing  afternoon.  He  declined  to  join  the  card  players  and 
laughingly  declared  that  he  wanted  to  have  a  heart-to-heart 
talk  with  the  Marquise. 

Tania  was  disturbed  beyond  all  expression  and  felt  real 
regret  that  he  would  not  wait  for  the  merry  supper  which 
she  served  at  midnight,  but  she  did  not  insist,  and  only 
sighed  with  a  charming  air  of  disappointment. 

Crawford  looked,  and  felt,  relieved.  Tania  was  a  splendid, 
sweet  woman,  he  said  to  himself,  and,  though  she  did  love 
him,  she  did  not  try  to  make  him  uncomfortable  by  expect 
ing  him  to  return  the  affection.  He  would  not  let  her  suspect 
that  he  was  going  to  drop  her  out  of  his  life  and  told  him 
self  that  it  would  be  easy  to  forget  to  call  on  her  when  he 
returned  from  Russia.  He  hated  the  trouble  of  making 
explanations  or  excuses  and  he  didn't  intend  to  offer  any. 
During  the  hour  he  spent  with  her  he  let  her  do  most  of  the 
talking,  but  when  he  rose  to  go,  looked  at  her  rather  wist 
fully.  He  remembered  her  constant  good  nature,  and  it 
was  on  his  lips  to  tell  her  that  he  would  come  to  her  on 
his  return  from  the  north,  but  he  had  promised  Sonia 
Ramoniff  that  he  would  break  his  intimacy  with  the  Mar 
quise  and  went  away  without  committing  himself. 

When  he  turned  into  the  street  he  breathed  in  great 
draughts  of  the  frosty  air.  The  scented,  heated  atmosphere 
of  Tania 's  apartment  and  the  noise  and  music  had  made 

223 


224 

him  nervous  and,  with  a  curt  order  to  the  chauffeur,  he 
entered  his  car. 

The  next  day  was  clear  and  sunshiny,  and  in  the  fore 
noon  the  coupe  of  the  Marquise  Tania  drew  up  before  the 
American's  apartment  and  the  Russian  sent  her  maid  with 
a  note  to  Crawford,  requesting  a  moment's  conversation. 

"Poor  Tania,"  he  said  softly,  and  smiling  and  in  high 
spirits,  impetuously  descended  to  the  street.  He  looked 
with  amazement  at  the  Marquise,  who  patiently  waited  for 
him.  Her  black  eyes,  encircled  by  dark  rings,  looked  caver 
nous,  and  her  usually  pale  face  was  flushed,  but  she  had 
wonderful  self-control  and  the  supreme  tact  to  act  and  speak 
naturally,  and  exclaimed  in  a  deprecating  voice — 

"My  Hugh,  you  have  been  so  very,  very  good  to  me  that  I 
have  the  courage  to  ask  you  another  favor."  She  spoke 
simply  and  her  voice  had  not  a  tremor  to  betray  her  agita 
tion.  "You  tell  me  that  you  would  like  to  be  of  use  to  me 
and  I  want  to  give  a  present — a  little  bibelot,  to  a  friend 
in  St.  Petersburg.  I  forgot  to  mention  it  last  night,  and  I 
must  show  it  to  you  before  I  part  with  it.  It  is  wonderful 
and  most  precious. ' ' 

' '  Only  too  glad, ' '  Crawford  responded,  watching  her  while 
she  unwrapped  a  tiny,  carved,  ivory  figure  of  the  Japanese 
god  of  good  luck.  It  was  a  beautiful  specimen  of  minute 
carving,  and  she  held  it  out  for  Crawford's  scrutiny,  smiling 
when  he  declared  his  admiration  as  he  examined  the  triflo. 

If  the  truth  were  known,  Crawford  was  thinking  to  him 
self  that  these  constant  little  errands  were  a  nuisance,  but 
he  was  naturally  gracious  and  declared  his  pleasure  in 
serving  her. 

Again  wrapping  the  image  in  its  embroidered  silk  bag,, 
Tania  handed  it  to  Crawford,  whose  strong  white  hand 
completely  covered  the  toy. 

"It  is  for  my  friend  Madame  Linoff  and  if  it  is  possible 
she  will  see  you  personally.  She  is  very  beautiful  and  most 


THE  JAPANESE  IDOL.  225 

anxious  to  meet  my  handsome  friend.  I  have  written  her 
the  same  address  you  gave  me  when  you  were  last  in 
Russia.  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  the  Hotel  d 'Europe?" 

With  the  subtle  charm  which  Crawford  could  never  de 
fine,  she  won  a  gracious  reply  and  with  perfect  intuition 
said,  ''I  must  hurry  along.  I  am  sure  you  have  much  to 
attend  to.  I  wish  you  a  safe  journey — and  a  happy  return." 

Crawford  kissed  her  hands  with  quite  courtly  French 
grace.  He  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  surprise  when  Tania 
drew  her  fingers  from  his  clasp  and  with  a  muttered  Rus 
sian  word  to  her  maid  dreAv  herself  back  among  the  cushions 
and  from  the  shadow  of  the  coupe  whispered  huskily,  "Bon 
voyage,  et  bon  succes." 

Passers-by  smiled  at  the  fair-haired  man  standing  in  the 
sunshine,  gazing  with  an  amused  look  after  the  receding  car, 
but  Crawford  did  not  notice  them  and,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  returned  to  his  apartment. 

Saunders  had  left  his  master's  traveling  bag  open  on  a 
chair  and  CraAvford  tossed  the  tiny  packet  Tania  had  given 
him  into  the  half-packed  valise — then  he  called  the  man 
to  put  the  remainder  of  his  things  in  order. 

Saunders  was  devoted  to  the  American  and  despaired 
because  he  was  being  left  in  Paris.  He  believed  that  Craw 
ford  would  need  him — especially  if  he  continued  drinking 
heavily,  but  he  did  not  dare  express  his  opinions. 

"I  won't  be  away  long — I  may  be  back  at  any  time, 
although  St.  Petersburg  is  at  its  best  in  winter,"  CraAvford 
remarked  as  he  watched  the  valet  quietly  laying  aside  sonic 
belongings.  "I  hope  the  cars  will  be  properly  heated." 

"I  hope  so,  Sir." 

Crawford  yawned  and  looked  at  his  watch,  which  still 
contained  a  picture  of  Anne  in  its  case.  He  studied  the 
dark,  frail  face,  and  in  spite  of  drink-deadened  nerves  and 
vain  egotism,  felt  compassion  and  regret.  He  was  confident 
that  in  spite  of  her  demand  for  a  divorce  she  still  loved  him 


226  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

and  believed  he  had  wrecked  her  happiness.  For  a  long 
time  he  sat  looking  at  the  picture,  meditating  on  the  past 
and  conscious  that  in  spite  of  wealth  and  powerful  acquaint 
ances,  he  was  lonely  and  solitary.  Frowning  at  the  irony 
of  it  all,  he  returned  the  watch  to  his  pocket  and  a  decided 
expression  of  determination  changed  the  whole  character 
of  his  face. 

"I'm  a  fool,"  he  muttered,  "fancying  myself  unhappy 
and  forsaken  just  because  I  have  lost  Anne  and  forgetting 
that  Sonia — and  she  is  going  to  be  my  Sonia — is  waiting 
for  me." 

His  fluctuating  moods  changed  and  he  felt  ready  for  con 
flict,  glad  to  think  that  he  would  have  to  battle  for  the  love 
of  the  woman  he  coveted. 

When  his  trunks  had  gone  he  went  sloAvly  to  the  street, 
Saunders  following  with  his  valise,  entered  his  waiting 
car  and  lighted  one  of  his  big,  black  cigars. 

"I  expect  I'll  miss  you,  Saunders,"  he  said  standing  in 
front  of  the  door  of  the  Berlin  Express.  "See  that  my  mail 
is  forwarded  at  once.  I'll  send  a  wire  before  I  return." 

"Yes,  sir,  and  a  pleasant  journey." 

"Thank  you,  Saunders.     Good-bye." 

The  porter  locked  the  door  of  the  compartment,  and  Craw 
ford,  craving  new  delights — new  experiences — thought  of 
Sonia  Ramoniff  and  his  vanity  expanded  at  some  remem 
bered  evidence  of  her  interest.  He  smiled  fatuously  while 
he  leaned  one  arm  on  his  valise  and  promised  himself  that 
he  was  going  to  find  life  worth  living  and  that  he  was  going 
to  reap  the  reward  for  his  years  of  devotion.  He  was  going 
to  Russia. 

His  fancy  rioted  in  joyous  anticipations  and  he  almost 
regretted  his  promise  to  spend  a  day  with  student  friends 
in  Berlin,  but  when  he  arrived  at  the  clean,  military  German 
capitol  and  found  that  his  friends  had  prepared  everything 
for  his  enjoyment,  oven  to  selecting  his  suite  at  the  Hotel 


TO  OUR  LITTLE  FATHER! 
TO  OUR  CZAR! 


THE  JAPANESE  IDOL.  221 

Bauer,  and  arranging  for  a  gay  evening  at  the  Theatre 
Unter  den  Linden  with  a  supper  to  follow,  he  forgot  his 
impatience  to  get  to  St.  Petersburg  and  gave  himself  up  to 
pleasures  of  the  moment.  He  drank  heavily  and  was  pale 
and  haggard  when  he  resumed  his  journey. 

A  woman  clothed  in  the  unprepossessing  dullness  of  con 
ventional  mourning  occupied  a  seat  in  the  compartment, 
while  another  female,  apparently  an  upper  servant,  was 
seated  in  the  corner.  In  spite  of  a  headache,  Crawford 
looked  apprisingly  at  them,  but  the  outlook  for  a  flirtation 
did  not  appear  attractive.  He  saw  nothing  to  amuse  and, 
putting  his  bag  on  the  vacant  seat  beside  him,  settled  back 
in  his  chair  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  But  the  scenery 
did  not  interest  him.  The  snow  dazzled  his  eyes  and  made 
them  ache  horribly  and  gradually  the  lids  drooped  and  he 
slept — the  heavy  sleep  of  exhausted  nature. 

"It  will  be  easy.    He  is  like  a  dead  man." 

As  she  spoke  the  woman  in  the  black  garments  threw 
aside  her  heavy  crepe  veil  and  straightened  her  bent  form. 
Her  whole  appearance  would  have  delighted  the  beauty- 
loving  heart  of  Hugh  Crawford,  for  she  wras  a  splendid 
animal,  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  Circassian  woman,  un 
tamed,  queenly,  tall — and  powerful  as  a  man.  Her  splendid 
teeth  bared  in  a  snarl  as  she  muttered  to  the  woman-servant 
who  moved  in  advance  of  her  and  who,  with  large,  power 
ful,  curved  hands  ready  to  grasp— and  kill — stood  over 
Hugh  Crawford  while  he  slept. 

They  anxiously  watched  the  door,  fearing  the  guard 
would  pass  through,  but  he  did  not  appear  nor  did  the 
rumbling  of  the  wheels  or  the  motion  of  the  train  disturb 
the  sleeper,  but  the  servant  stared  into  the  unconscious  face 
with  anxious,  cold  and  cruel  eyes  while  the  blond  woman 
searched  Crawford's  pockets. 

"It  is  not  on  him.     The  Germans  have  secured  it,"  she 


228 


hissed  through  her  teeth,  then  stifling  an  exclamation,  she 
drew  the  American's  keys  from  his  pocket. 

He  moved  but  did  not  awaken. 

The  woman  did  not  betray  any  haste  but,  selecting  a  key, 
succeeded  in  opening  Crawford's  valise.  She  groped  among 
the  contents  until  she  found  a  small  packet,  then  carefully 
replaced  the  disturbed  articles  and,  secreting  the  tiny  packet 
in  the  folds  of  crepe  covering  her  bosom,  she  locked  the  bag 
and  returned  the  keys  to  Crawford's  pocket. 

No  words  were  exchanged  when  the  two  women  resumed 
their  seats,  but  the  black-robed  woman  drew  her  veil  over 
the  upper  part  of  her  figure  and  seemed  to  shrivel.  Again 
she  appeared  old  and  uninteresting. 

The  servant  opened  the  window  beside  her,  letting  in  a 
rush  of  icy  air  and  she  did  not  seem  aware  that  the  cold 
atmosphere  aAvakened  Crawford  who,  glaring  at  her  while 
he  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  jangled  his  keys, 
muttered  strong  American  oaths  referring  to  car  hogs. 

But  the  short  sleep  had  quieted  his  nerves  and  he  again 
thought  of  Madame  Ramoniff.  He  knew  she  would  be  glad 
of  his  coming  and  he  wondered  if  the  great  attraction  of 
the  glorious  woman  lay  in  her  elusiveness,  for,  with  all  her 
audacity,  she  would  give  no  favors,  but  "she  is  a  woman, 
therefore,  to  be  won,"  he  quoted  in  his  mind. 

When  the  train  pulled  up  in  Vierzhbolovo,  he  glanced  at 
Jiis  passport  and,  leaving  the  car  with  the  two  women  trav 
elers,  noticed  that  the  one  dressed  as  a  servant  walked 
quickly  toward  a  man  who  came  in  her  direction,  and  Hugh 
Crawford  saw  something  change  hands,  while  in  the  frm1- 
tion  of  a  moment,  the  man,  humming  softly  and  twirling  his 
heavy  cane,  sauntered  past  the  officer  guarding  the  door, 
suddenly  jumped  into  a  waiting  sleigh  and  disappeared 
around  a  corner. 

The  American  looked  to  see  if  the  black-garbed  woman 


TEE  JAPANESE  IDOL.  229 

had  witnessed  the  strange  by-play,  but  she  too  had  disap 
peared — perhaps  among  the  crowd  pouring  into  the  Customs 
Hall. 

It  was  all  over  so  quickly  and  there  Avas  so  much  noise 
and  confusion  around  him  that  Crawford  did  not  notice  the 
large  man  in  uniform  who  followed  him,  and  started  nerv 
ously  when  he  was  addressed  by  the  official.  No  one  seemed 
aware  of  his  angry  astonishment  and  the  army  of  porters 
carried  and  sorted  the  luggage  while  the  officials  at  their 
tables  examined  passports,  methodically  registering  and 
stamping  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  American  escorted  by 
the  commanding  official. 

"Please  come  with  me,  Monsieur  Crawford,"  the  man 
said  politely.  ' '  We  must  not  waste  time. ' ' 

' '  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?    I  am  an  American  citizen. ' ' 

Crawford  tried  to  preserve  his  self-control,  but  his  limbs 
trembled.  He  wished  he  had  brought  Saunders  and  re 
solved  never  again  to  travel  without  his  man. 

"You  have  a  paper.  Give  it  to  me  and  save  yourself 
trouble.  You  will  be  searched  if  you  do  not  immediately 
produce  it." 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  have  nothing.  Send  for  the  Amer 
ican  Consul.  You  mistake  me  for  someone  else." 

A  profuse  perspiration  spangled  Crawford 's  forehead,  and 
his  hands  trembled  while  he  held  them  over  his  tortured 
eyes.  The  pain  was  almost  intolerable  for  the  moment,  and 
suddenly  a  dreadful  thought,  gradually  changing  to  a  con 
viction,  darted  through  his  brain.  Tania!  The  little  Japa 
nese  god!  He  had  forgotten  the  Marquise  and  her  present 
for  her  friend,  but  it  dawned  on  him  that  he  had  been  carry 
ing  a  token — a  symbol — something  that  meant  danger,  and 
when  they  opened  his  valise  he  would  be  lost. 

He  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf  when  he  handed  his  keys 
to  the  grim  official,  not  knowing  that  by  a  fluke,  by  a  sod 
den  sleep,  he  had  been  saved  from  death  at  the  hands  of 


230 


his  companion  de  voyage,  and  by  a  kind  turn  of  fortune's 
wheel  escaped  ignominy — and  death.  Still  shaking  with  ter 
ror  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  terrible  danger  he  was 
in  if  his  suspicions  proved  to  be  correct — if  Tania  had 
treacherously  led  him  into  the  hands  of  the  dreaded  Russian 
police;  but  a  ray  of  hope  lighted  his  gloom  when,  after 
removing  everything  from  the  bag  and  carefully  searching 
every  article,  his  belongings  were  replaced.  They  had  not 
found  the  idol.  Although  left  in  charge  of  an  officer  he 
quietly  watched  the  official  depart  to  search  his  trunks. 
Knowing  there  was  nothing  to  be  found  in  them,  Craw 
ford's  hope  and  courage  revived,  but  he  still  had  sensations 
which  he  could  not  keep  from  recognizing  as  fright.  He 
tried  to  remember  that  he  was  an  American  and  a  man 
and  told  himself  that  he  would  not  show  the  white  feather. 
But  his  years  of  dissipation  had  weakened  his  courage  and 
his  manner  was  not  formidable  when  the  official  returned 
and  with  profuse  apologies  escorted  him  to  the  train  for 
St.  Petersburg. 

Crawford  did  not  listen  to  the  murmurs  of  "rules  of  the 
service"  and  "thousand  pardons,"  but  before  the  man  in 
uniform  closed  the  door,  he  whispered,  with  a  look  in  his 
eyes  before  which  the  nervous  American  quailed — 

"It  will  be  wise  to  forget  this  little  episode.  It  is  not  to 
be  mentioned." 

"I  have  already  forgotten  it,  monsieur." 

Crawford's  reply  was  uttered  with  as  much  dignity  as 
he  could  muster,  but  his  lips  were  white  and  trembling 
and  he  did  not  make  a  brave  showing. 

The  train  moved  quietly  out  of  the  station,  the  paneled 
car  was  softly  lighted  and,  ringing  the  bell  for  service,  he 
ordered  the  silent  train  servant  to  bring  vodka.  He  gazed 
into  the  night,  but  all  was  blackness  and  mystery  and 
whenever  the  train  stopped  he  shivered  with  nervous  dread, 
fearing  he  knew  not  what.  He  could  not  imagine  where 


THE  JAPANESE  IDOL.  231 

the  idol  had  gone  and  at  last  decided  that  it  had  accidentally 
been  left  in  Paris  when  Saunders  packed  his  bag. 
He  hoped  it  had  been  swept  aside  and  destroyed,  and 
heartily  wished  himself  safely  out  of  Russia. 

When  morning  came  and  he  saw  fir  trees  growing  beside 
the  track,  the  evergreen  branches  reminded  him  of  Christ 
mas — of  America — of  Anne.  He  wondered  if  she  would 
marry  again,  but  remembering  her  religious  beliefs  decided 
that  she  would  find  it  hard  to  subjugate  her  scruples  and 
share  her  life  with  another  man. 

A  fellow  traveler  asked  some  information,  but  Crawford, 
remembering  his  experience  at  the  frontier,  was  afraid  to 
answer  and  turned  his  back  to  the  offended  man  and  the 
journey  was  continued  in  silence. 

Exactly  on  the  minute  of  2  :45,  the  train  drew  into  St. 
Petersburg  and  half  an  hour  later  Hugh  Crawford  drove 
down  the  Nevski  to  his  hotel.  The  sight  of  the  huge  police 
men  dotted  along  the  street  made  him  nervmfls.  To  the 
American  they  looked  very  military — very  like  the  officer 
who  had  bid  him  forget. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Way  of  the  Transgressor. 


233 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR. 

When  Crawford  reached  the  Hotel  d 'Europe,  he  was  as 
signed  to  rooms  on  the  second  floor — the  same  suite  he  had 
occupied  on  his  last  visit  to  Russia,  and  something  in  the 
familiar  and  agreeably  well-chosen  furnishings,  suggested 
comfort  and  rest.  He  was  dead  tired,  but  reminding  himself 
of  his  obligations,  sent  a  messenger  with  a  note  to  Sonia 
Ramoniff;  then  he  threw  himself  on  a  couch  and  closed  his 
eyes.  They  were  blinking  and  twitching,  and  his  nerves 
jumped.  Finding  it  impossible  to  compose  himself,  he  rose 
and  went  to  the  writing  table.  Using  his  doctor's  authority, 
he  wrote  a  prescription  for  morphine,  and  ringing  for  a  serv 
ant,  ordered  his  bath  prepared  and  the  narcotic  to  be  brought 
to  him. 

It  was  with  a  keen  sense  of  creature  comfort  that  he  donned 
his  pajamas  and  crept  between  the  sheets  of  the  great  bed  in 
the  delightfully  quiet  bedroom.  The  morphine  was  slowly 
overpowering  him  and  a  delicious  drowsiness  was  succeeded 
by  a  heavy  slumber. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  it  was  early  morning  of  the  fol 
lowing  day.  His  head  ached,  but  after  drinking  a  glass  of 
brandy,  the  pain  passed  and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  look  at  him 
self  in  the  full  length  mirror,  opposite  his  bed.  His  color 
had  returned,  he  commenced  to  feel  refreshed,  and  smiling  at 
his  own  reflection,  he  lazily  stretched  himself  and  rang  for 
the  hotel  valet. 

It  was  after  luncheon  before  Sonia  Ramoniff  answered  his 
note,  but  Crawford  smiled  at  her  show  of  indifference,  re 
membering  a  look  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes,  and  a  conversation 
— a  half  promise. 

235 


236 

Human  desires  have  changed  little  since  the  days  when 
great,  hairy  men  descended  on  an  alien  tribe  to  steal  the 
women  they  coveted,  only  now  the  assault  is  made  with  gor 
geous  gifts,  glittering  gold,  and  graceful  gallantries,  but  the 
result  is  the  same  and  beneath  the  surface  of  conventionality, 
the  struggle  is  as  pitiless. 

Crawford's  friendship  with  Sonia  Ramoniff  had  been  inti 
mate  and  delightful.  She  was  a  proud  woman,  but  not  too 
proud  to  thrill  with  passion  and  appreciate  his  admiration. 
She  knew  why  he  had  followed  her  to  Russia — and  that  a 
man  cannot  be  played  with  forever.  He  felt  pleasantly  mas 
terful,  and  believed  he  wras  deeply  in  love,  though  he  caught 
himself  wondering  if  she  would  prove  to  be  the  one  woman 
to  hold  his  fancy  captive. 

His  strong  aristocratic  figure  appeared  to  splendid  advan 
tage,  he  held  his  head  high,  and  a  genial  smile  overspread  his 
handsome  face  when  the  valet  assisted  him  into  his  mink-lined 
overcoat,  and  when  he  started  for  the  Ramoniff  mansion  on 
the  Moika,  he  had  forgotten  old  regrets;  life  was  full  of  joy, 
and  imagination  stirred  him  to  build  wonderful  air  castles. 

"After  all,  it  is  just  as  well  that  Anne  sought  the  divorce. 
I  know  she  loves  me  in  spite  of  everything — poor  little  girl, 
but  it  is  better  that  we  should  be  free, ' '  he  thought  magnani 
mously.  In  his  happy,  joyous  mood  he  decided  that  he  would 
devote  a  few  years  to  freedom  and  pleasure,  and  then  resume 
the  study  of  his  profession,  and  win  the  University  degree 
which  had  been  the  great  desire  of  his  mother's  heart:  but 
now  he  was  going  to  Sonia.  The  thought  of  her  dazzling 
beauty — her  blooming,  stimulating  vivacity  and  health,  made 
him  thrill.  Crawford  did  not  know  it,  but  Sonia  Ramoniff 
was  the  only  woman  who  made  him  forget  himself. 

The  thoughts  of  her  were  still  running  in  his  mind  when  he 
passed  through  the  office  of  his  hotel.  An  invitation  for  a 
banquet  in  the  hotel  where  he  was  staying  was  handed  to 
him.  A  friendly  note  accompanied  the  formal  card  which 


TEE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR.  237 

mentioned  that  Eigo  and  his  musicians  were  to  play,  that 
the  fete  promised  to  prove  amusing,  and  the  hope  that  Craw 
ford  would  accept.  The  American  knew  that  the  invitation 
came  through  the  Ramoniff  influence  and  the  knowledge 
added  to  his  elation. 

The  St.  Petersburg  home  of  the  Romaniffs  was  situated  on 
the  magnificent  Moika,  and  stood  large,  sombre  and  impressive. 
It  was  celebrated  for  its  magnificent  art  gallery,  and  Boris 
Ramoniff  had  spent  extravagant  sums  to  make  his  Russian 
home  luxurious  and  perfect.  But  in  spite  of  its  splendor, 
Sonia  Ramoniff  hated  it. 

She  was  not  a  disagreeable  woman  and  kept  her  opinion 
of  her  husband's  ancestral  pile  and  gorgeous  splendor,  locked 
in  her  heart  and  appeared  absolutely  happy  and  contented 
when  she  received  all  St.  Petersburg — as  represented  by  the 
owners  of  titles  and  lands,  who  came  and  went  through  the 
portals  of  her  home. 

When  Crawford  was  announced,  she  showed  no  great  pleas 
ure,  merely  treating  him  with  usual  attentive  courtesy,  and 
he  meekly  murmured  a  few  words  of  greeting  and  devoted 
himself  to  an  old  acquaintance.  But  he  was  not  deceived 
by  Sonia 's  coldness  and  waited  for  a  chance  to  gain  a  private 
word. 

"Monsieur  Crawford,"  she  exclaimed  artlessly,  smiling  at 
him  from  her  position  near  the  door  and  flashing  a  look  into 
his  eyes,  ' '  I  trust  you  have  no  other  engagement.  We  are  to 
have  a  dance  tonight — here  at  my  home.  If  you  can  tear  your 
self  away  from  your  other  friends — and  the  clubs,  I  shall 
be  glad  if  you  will  come. ' ' 

"I  shall  be  honored,  Madame,"  Crawford  responded  with 
simple  dignity.  He  knew  he  was  expected  to  retire  grace 
fully — that  his  first  call  must  be  brief  and  formal,  and  with  a 
few  well-chosen  words,  he  bowed  ceremoniously  over  the  dainty 
hand  of  Sonia,  and  left  the  heated  rooms. 

At  first  he  was  chagrined  that  she  had  not  managed  to 


238  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

speak  with  him  alone,  but  with  a  gleam  of  sense,  he  remem 
bered  that  she  was  very  conspicuous  and  acknowledged  her 
display  of  discretion. 

He  repaired  to  the  club  where  a  Russian  friend  had  put  him 
up  almost  seven  years  before.  His  mind  revelled  in  romantic 
raptures  and  he  hid  himself  in  a  quiet  corner,  but  he  was  well 
and  favorably  known,  and  acquaintances  disturbed  his  dreams. 
With  admirable  astuteness  he  joined  in  the  conversation 
around  him  without  betraying  the  vexation  he  felt. 

As  he  did  not  intend  to  remain  long  in  St.  Petersburg,  he 
had  thought  of  living  at  the  club,  and  now  he  flattered  him 
self  on  his  good  judgment  in  installing  himself  at  the  hotel. 
There  were  times  when  he  wanted  to  be  alone — free  to  come 
and  go,  without  running  into  a  lot  of  "good  fellows,"  and 
club  life  was  too  sociable  to  please  Crawford. 

He  found  great  allurement  in  leading  the  life  of  a  bon 
vivant,  and  intended  making  quiet  visits  which  concerned  no 
one  but  himself.  The  women  of  Russia  had  always  appealed 
to  his  imagination,  and  their  languorous  grace  and  peculiar 
charm  of  manner,  fascinated  him.  The  refined  profligacy  of 
Russian  society  had  taken  hold  of  him  during  his  previous 
visits  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  he  liked  the  atmosphere  that 
blended  Asiatic  indolence  with  European  vivacity. 

Being  acquainted  with  many  of  the  aristocrats  in  this  north 
ern  capitol,  he  had  been  flattered  by  the  favor  and  smiles  of 
many  a  haughty  society  woman,  but  while  their  beauty  was 
alluring,  and  their  eyes  full  of  passionate  mystery,  their 
soft  hands  seemed  as  capable  of  holding  a  dirk  as  of  flirting  a 
fan,  and  Crawford  was  extremely  cautious. 

It  was  almost  six  years  since  he  had  been  in  America — al 
most  six  years  since  he  had  seen  Anne,  but  in  spite  of  the  mad 
life  he  had  led,  and  was  still  leading,  he  was  the  same  mag 
nificently  handsome  man,  although  the  freshness  of  perfect 
youth  and  health  had  disappeared,  and  his  face  was  delicately 
chiselled  into  sterner  outlines.  His  luxuriant  blond  hair  was 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR.  239 

commencing  to  thin  over  the  temples,  his  brow  was  higher, 
and  the  trouble  with  his  eyes  growing  more  serious,  but  he 
was  still  compellingly,  amazingly,  good-looking. 

When  he  left  his  hotel  that  night  and  his  sleigh  dashed  over 
the  frozen  streets  to  the  Ramoniff  mansion,  he  found  that  in 
stead  of  a  small  dance,  Sonia  Ramoniff  was  giving  a  ball. 

The  street  was  lined  with  equipages  and  after  dismissing 
his  driver  with  instructions  to  return  early,  Crawford  en 
tered  the  great  gates  and  soon  was  bowing  over  Sonia 
Ramoniff 's  jeweled  hand. 

It  was  a  dazzling  and  brilliant  scene  that  met  his  eyes  in 
the  splendid  mansion  with  its  high-ceilinged  and  brilliantly 
lighted  rooms,  filled  with  fashionable,  radiant  men  and  women. 

Sonia  Ramoniff  had  never  looked  more  lovely. 

When  she  greeted  the  American,  his  ardent  looks  of  pas 
sionate  admiration  brought  a  responsive  glance  from  her  dark, 
sapphire  eyes,  and  she  found  the  opportunity  of  whispering 
a  few  words. 

With  a  gratified  smile,  Crawford  bowed  and  passed  on. 

Among  the  men,  most  of  whom  wore  gorgeous  uniforms,  he 
moved  dignified  and  conspicuous,  and  Sonia 's  glance  followed 
him  when  he  greeted  old  acquaintances,  and  after  a  few 
words,  offered  his  arm  to  a  titled  woman  whom  he  guided 
through  a  stately  dance. 

"I  see  that  Sonia  Ramoniff  is  still  in  love  with  her  Ameri 
can,"  one  of  her  friends  whispered,  looking  at  Sonia  who 
stood  in  her  wonderful  beauty,  attired  in  white  velvet  and 
blazing  with  the  Ramoniff  diamonds ;  a  vision  of  snowy,  pure 
fairness,  her  golden  hair  crowned  her  provocative  face,  and 
she  looked  like  a  proud  queen,  dominating  the  scene  by  the 
power  of  her  perfect  beauty. 

"She  is  mad  to  entertain  when  Boris'  cousin  is  not  cold  in 
his  grave.  No!  Boris  will  not  be  pleased,"  the  other  woman 
gossiped,  "and  Sonia  insists  that  she  will  not  wear  mourning 
— save  for  the  Court." 


240  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"She  is  dreadfully  imprudent  and  impulsive."  The  first 
speaker,  genuinely  good-natured  and  fond  of  Sonia,  smiled 
kindly.  "But  she  is  as  pure  as  gold.  She  is  not  wise,  but 
she  is  a  good  woman — and  a  very,  very  beautiful  one." 

"Of  course,"  answered  the  Baroness  Chernee  rather  tartly. 
"She  is  good,  and  well-born,  and  well-bred,  but  the  Germans 
by  temperament  and  habit  are  arrogant  and  insolent.  A  Rus 
sian  woman  would  never  defy  public  opinion  or  bring  her 
husband's  honor  into  question,  although  she  might  be  gener 
ous  and  not  cruel  enough  to  drive  her  lovers  to  despair — but 
Sonia — our  new  Countess  Ramoniff — is  too  incautious. ' ' 

Sonia 's  friend  sighed.  She  was  an  experienced  woman  and 
knew  when  to  be  silent  and  she  also  recognized  that  Sonia 
Ramoniff  was  reckless  in  obstinately  defying  society's  laws — 
but  she  resented  the  Baroness  Chernee 's  criticism  of  her 
friend.  She  laughed  nervously  when  she  saw  Sonia  draw  her 
full  under  lip  under  her  white  teeth  and  anxiously  search  the 
salons  until  her  eyes  met  Crawford.  With  a  glance  she  beck 
oned  him  and  eagerly  waited  until  he  came  near,  then  with  a 
radiant  smile  she  accepted  his  arm,  and  crossed  the  room  to 
join  the  dancers  in  the  ball-room. 

Crawford  guided  his  lovely  partner  down  the  long  hall. 
Life  was  perfect  and  brighter  than  he  had  ever  known  it. 
Many  eyes  watched  him  while  he  danced  the  mazouka  with  the 
beautiful  woman.  They  looked  the  embodiment  of  joyous, 
excited  happiness,  and  "all  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  (espe 
cially  in  Russia.) 

The  deep  caressing  tones  of  the  stringed  instruments  ceased 
and  withdrawing  his  arm  from  her  waist,  Crawford  bent 
to  whisper,  "Sonia,  I  must  see  you  alone.  Please  tell  me 
when — where." 

"Suppose  we  go  to  the  supper  room,"  she  suggested.  "It 
is  early,  but  we  can  have  a  glass  of  wine." 

She  spoke  with  elaborate  unconcern,  and  with  Crawford 
at  her  side,  moved  out  of  the  ballroom  and  down  the  corridor. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  TRANSGRESSOR.          241 

The  door  of  a  small  reception  room,  was  open  and  with  a 
sudden  motion,  Sonia  stepped  inside.  The  pupils  of  her 
eyes  were  dilated  and  she  brushed  her  shoulder  against  the 
American's  arm. 

"I  will  be  alone  to-morrow,  at  two  by  the  clock,"  she  mur 
mured,  and  suddenly  lifting  her  head,  exclaimed,  ' '  Oh,  Hugh  ! 
I  am  so  happy  that  you  are  here." 

He  did  not  speak,  but  with  a  swift  movement  clasped  her 
suddenly  in  his  arms,  bent  her  head  backwards  and  laid  his 
face  against  hers — but  he  did  not  kiss  her,  and  the  next  in 
stant  freed  her  from  his  embrace. 

Every  nerve  in  her  strong,  supple  body  was  trembling  when 
she  drew  away  from  him  and  with  remarkable  self-control, 
gracefully  walked  into  the  corridor.  But  there  was  a  gleam 
in  her  eyes,  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  Hugh  Crawford,  subtle 
and  unusual  lover,  proudly  followed.  He  was  quite  satisfied 
that  he  would  win  the  proof  of  her  love,  and  with  the  patient 
egotism  of  his  nature,  was  content  to  wait. 

Sonia  felt  her  pulses  beating  and  her  whole  being  tingling 
with  the  excitement  of  the  emotion  that  had  almost  over 
powered  her — but  misgiving  clouded  her  joy.  She  remem 
bered  Crawford's  fickleness — his  unexpected  marriage  and  his 
one-time  devotion  to  the  lovely  Mrs.  Hardeen,  then  her  face 
cleared.  She  believed  in  her  own  power.  She  would  make 
him  love  her — make  him  forget  everyone  but  her. 

She  mingled  with  the  guests  and  accepting  the  arm  of  a 
diplomat,  returned  to  the  supper  room  and  drank  some  cham 
pagne  and  under  the  exhilaration  of  the  sparkling  wine, 
laughed  a  great  deal. 

At  this  time  Sonia  Ramoniff  was  at  the  height  of  her  beauty 
and  charm.  She  was  very  favored  at  Court  where  her  merry 
disposition,  unchanging  good  nature  and  elastic  vivaciousness 
made  her  welcome.  Her  very  recklessness  was  charming  and 
her  renowned  beauty  added  to  her  fascinations.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  she  was  careless,  selfish,  and  haughty,  but  not 


242  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

unpleasantly  so,  and  dancing,  skating,  swimming  or  riding, 
she  was  a  joy  to  the  eye,  and  so  sweetly  womanly  that  she 
captivated  the  hearts  of  both  men  and  women. 

She  was  a  little  older  than  Hugh  Crawford.  They  had  met 
when  the  American  first  arrived  in  Berlin,  and  had  done  more 
toward  ruining  his  nature  than  she  ever  knew.  She  had  done 
him  incalculable  harm  by  turning  the  conceited,  but  simple 
and  youthful  Adonis,  into  a  blase  man-of-the-world,  encourag 
ing  his  attentions  and  ignoring  his  weaknesses,  exciting  his 
admiration  and  laughing  at  his  passion,  and  now,  after  years 
of  playing  with  this  man's  emotions,  the  tables  were  turning, 
and  her  head,  crowned  with  its  diamond  tiara,  swam  with  jeal 
ousy  and  a  desire  to  hold  his  fickle  fancy. 

"Verily  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Sonia,   Countess  Ramoniff. 


243 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SONIA,  COUNTESS  RAMONIFF. 

Time  seemed  to  make  as  little  change  in  Sonia  Ramoniff  as 
it  did  in  Hugh  Crawford.  The  gay  Viennese  remained  the 
same  bewitching,  tantalizing,  joyous  butterfly,  and  she  still 
amused  and  scandalized  her  friends. 

Boris  Ramoniff  grew  less  taciturn  as  his  wife  grew  more 
reckless,  and  often  displayed  his  displeasure,  but  his  disappro 
bation  only  irritated  her  and  she  gave  no  heed  to  his  remon 
strances,  although  once  she  had  quailed  before  the  angry,  dan 
gerous  look  in  his  face  when  he  demanded  that  she  devote  more 
time  to  their  children  and  show  more  respect  to  his  people. 

"Boris  would  like  me  to  go  with  the  children  to  his  estates 
in  the  Interior  and  bury  myself  away  from  my  friends,"  she 
said  with  an  angry  laugh. 

But  although  she  imperilled  the  happiness  of  her  married 
life  by  ignoring  public  opinion,  laughed  aside  the  protests 
of  her  friends  and  carried  on  outrageously  foolish  flirtations, 
she  had  never  dishonored  her  husband  and  she  really  loved 
her  children.  "Boris  is  entirely  different  from  what  he  was 
when  we  were  first  married.  He  doesn't  understand  me.  He 
does  not  consider  me — he  thinks  only  of  his  sons." 

She  did  not  realize  the  influence  Crawford  had  gained  over 
her.  She  only  knew  that  he  was  patient  with  her  vagaries, 
did  not  show  resentment  when  she  made  new  friendships  and 
bowed  to  her  will  with  such  charming  indifference  that,  in 
stead  of  offending  her,  he  aroused  a  piqued  desire  to  break 
down  his  complaisance. 

"I've  never  done  anything  really  wrong  and  I  hate  phleg 
matic  people  and  conventions,"  she  thought  passionately  when 

245 


246  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

her  husband  rebuked  her  for  some  trifling  fault.  ' '  Boris  some 
times  treats  me  as  if  I  needed  a  chaperone. ' ' 

She  was  getting  into  the  dangerous  habit  of  criticizing  her 
husband  and  did  not  know  that  Crawford  was  subtly  seduc 
ing  her  into  over-estimating  his  own  devotion  to  her  and  ex 
aggerating  Boris  Ramoniff 's  morbid,  temperamental  chidings. 

However  it  was  not  in  Sonia's  nature  to  dwell  on  disagree 
able  things  and  ignoring  her  husband's  disapproval,  she  led 
the  maddest  revels,  never  dreaming  that  she  was  courting  dis 
aster. 

Ramoniff  had  given  her  the  entire  love  of  his  heart.  He 
was  a  silent  man,  believing  nothing  until  proof  was  given  him, 
and  like  all  taciturn  men,  whether  Russian  or  not,  he  was  dan 
gerous  when  roused  to  anger.  The  rumors  of  his  wife's  flir 
tations  with  different  men  had  reached  him  and  while  he  be 
lieved  it  was  her  beauty  that  fed  much  of  the  envious  gossip, 
he  concluded  that  the  time  had  arrived  to  put  an  end  to  her 
indiscretions.  He  was  in  a  gloomy,  dangerous  mood  when  he 
was  called  to  the  deathbed  of  his  cousin,  and  in  the  enforced 
solitude  of  his  surroundings,  became  low-spirited  and  feared 
that  someone  might  alienate  her  love  from  him. 

.It  is  merciful  that  we  do  not  foresee  tragedy. 

Fate  had  always  been  favorable  to  Sonia  and  she  was 
wholly  unaware  that  her  husband  was  becoming  violently 
and  ferociously  distrustful. 

She  was  more  fond  of  Crawford  than  she  supposed  she  was, 
and  since  coming  to  Russia,  the  American  spent  many  hours 
in  her  company — and  Sonia  was  on  the  verge  of  making  a 
mistake. 

On  the  very  afternoon  that  Ramoniff  intended  returning  to 
St.  Petersburg,  Hugh  Crawford  had  an  appointment  with  his 
beautiful  friend.  He  knew  the  way  to  her  boudoir — knew 
she  was  waiting  for  him  and  smiled  when  Sonia's  maid  opened 
the  door  and  discreetly  disappeared  down  the  private  corridor 
loading  to  her  mistress'  rooms. 


SONIA,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  247 

At  the  end  of  the  hall  was  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  guarded 
by  a  tapestry  covered  door.  They  led  to  a  side  street  and 
Sonia  had  given  Crawford  permission  to  use  this  private  en 
trance. 

She  was  sitting  on  a  couch  between  the  deep  windows, 
resting  indolently  among  the  silken  cushions.  Her  beautiful 
amber  colored  hair  hung  in  two  Marguerite  braids,  giving  her 
a  charmingly  youthful  air,  and  she  did  not  turn  her  head  to 
greet  Crawford. 

He  stood  behind  her  for  a  moment,  then  reached  one  arm 
so  that  it  encircled  her  waist  and  drew  her  face  back  to  his 
own  and  whispered, 

;<My  Sonia!" 

Response  flamed  in  her  look,  but  she  spoke  with  a  calmness 
her  glance  belied, 

"You  are  incorrigible,  Hugh.  Don't  forget  we  are  old  mar 
ried  people/' 

"Marriage  makes  no  difference  in  my  feelings  for  you,  ma 
mie. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  it  should,"  Sonia  declared.  "You  should  be  less 
impatient  and  more  careful.  I  am  afraid  I  allow  you  too 
many  privileges,  especially  when  Boris  is  growing  so  impossi 
ble.  He  is  so  unreasonable  that  I  tremble  every  time  I  talk 
with  a  man — and  we  are  in  his  country.  We  are  in  Russia. ' ' 

"There  is  safety  in  numbers!  I'd  rather  you  said  when 
you  wanted  to  talk  with  men,  instead  of  with  a  man, ' '  Craw 
ford  answered  with  becoming  sullenness. 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

"Don't  be  silly,  dear.  You  were  never  jealous  of  your  wife, 
and  even  when  you  were  quite  mad  over  Mrs.  Hardeen,  you 
did  not  fear  rivalry,  so  do  not  try  to  make  me  think  you  are 
troubled  by  the  green-eyed  monster.  And  Hugh — tell  me, 
did  Mrs.  Hardeen  rebuff  you  or  did  you  tire  of  her?  I  am 
afraid  your  wife  does  not  find  you  a  perfect  husband." 


248  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Don't  tease  me,  Sonia,  and  don't  speak  of  my  wife.  T 
want  to  forget  everything — everybody — when  I  am  with  you. 
You  are  the  real  love  of  my  life. ' ' 

"And  you  are  the  same  delightful  trifler.  Experience  does 
not  change  you  at  all."  She  moved,  drawing  her  garments 
closely  around  her,  as  she  made  room  for  him  beside  her.  She 
knew  his  inconstancy,  but  his  words  were  so  different  from 
the  stilted  utterance  of  her  other  admirers,  and  Crawford 
was  so  wrapped  up  in  himself,  that  she  was  delighted  with  any 
evidence  that  she  could  move  him. 

She  did  not  care  that  she  was  playing  with  fire,  and  thrilled 
with  the  excitement  of  this  dangerous  friendship,  pretending 
to  herself  that  there  was  no  wrong  in  the  reckless  rapture 
that  threatened  to  break  down  all  barriers.  An  emotion  very 
like  love,  but  only  the  degrading  semblance  of  the  grand 
passion. 

"No,  I  do  not  change,  dear,  and  I  am  here  in  Russia  and 
with  you.  Be  kind  to  me,  my  darling.  Don't  you  love  me 
enough  to  trust  me?" 

She  laughed  and  drew  away  from  him,  cuddling  into  a  cor 
ner  of  the  padded  couch  and  curling  her  silken  shod  foot  on 
the  hassock  at  her  feet,  her  pose  revealing  the  lovely  curve  of 
her  limbs  as  the  shimmering  silk  was  tightened  by  her  uncon 
scious  movement. 

"Of  course  I  trust  you,  Hugh,"  she  said.  "How  dramatic 
you  are  today.  I  had  no  idea  of  such  hidden  fire.  You  com 
mence  to  be  une  vrai  flanneur  with  your  intense  enjoyment 
of  emotions.  Are  trying  to  make  me  think  you  are  fond  of 
me  when  you  married  for  love  and,  after  winning  your  wife, 
devoted  yourself  to  newer  fancies?" 

She  betrayed  such  womanly  jealousy,  though  she  leaned 
away  from  him  and  tried  to  laugh  carelessly  while  she  re 
proached,  that  Crawford  felt  that  he  had  really  gained  con 
trol  of  her  wild  heart.  His  patient  waiting  would  be  rewarded 


SON  I  A,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  249 

— Sonia  was  jealous.  But  lie  did  not  smile  and  not  a  glance 
betrayed  his  elation  as  he  gazed  at  her  with  apparent  serious 
ness. 

There  was  a  sparkle  of  malicious  humor  in  her  eyes  when 
she  returned  the  steady  look  of  the  physically  attractive  man, 
but  in  her  heart  she  gloried  in  the  knowledge  that  he  had  fol 
lowed  her — that  he  aspired  to  love  her. 

"You  are  grave  as  an  owl,"  she  pouted.  "You  can  be 
happy  in  spite  of  your  inflammable  affections — although  you 
may  have  difficulty  in  believing  it.  You  have  always  been 
spoiled,  and  I  am  so  good-natured  that  you  impose  on  me." 

Crawford  paid  no  heed  to  her  words.  He  was  not  re 
markable  for  wit,  and  his  masculine  mind  was  dwelling  on 
a  more  interesting  subject.  He  remembered  that  the  maid 
was  waiting  to  let  him  out  of  the  private  door,  for  Sonia 
and  he  were  to  meet  at  the  banquet  at  the  Hotel  d 'Europe, 
and  time  was  flying,  but  his  passion  outran  his  prudence,  and 
he  pleaded, 

' '  Let  me  come  again  to-morrow,  dear.  Make  me  happy  and 
trust  me.  We  are  not  to  blame  for  our  feelings.  Forget  your 
scruples  and  put  love  first." 

' '  Good  gracious,  Hugh  !  You  are  a  monster  of  indiscretion. 
You  must  have  more  self-control.  You  must  think  of  appear 
ances.  ' ' 

Crawford  flushed  with  annoyance.  In  the  past  they  had 
defied  conventions  and  spent  hours  together,  and  now  she 
spoke  of  appearances.  He  was  too  shallow  to  understand  her 
sudden  fear. 

' '  You  do  not  care  for  me.  You  only  amuse  yourself  playing 
with  my  feelings,"  he  cried  passionately,  then  a  wave  of  jeal 
ous  rage  struck  him.  ' '  Sonia,  if  I  thought — is  there  someone 
else?" 

She  was  furious  at  the  insult. 

"Try  to  be  a  gentleman,  mon  ami,"  she  said,  intending  to 
make  him  uncomfortable.  "You  always  were  unreasonable, 


250  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Hugh,  but  for  heaven's  sake  do  not  develop  into  a  jealous 
swain.  The  role  does  not  become  you.  You  look  quite  dan 
gerous,  and  big  and  fierce."  She  smiled  into  Crawford's  face 
with  adorable  impertinence.  "Now,  my  dear  boy,  I  will  tell 
you  the  reason  for  my  sudden  thought  for  les  convenances. 
First,  the  children  are  here  with  me.  Boris  insists  that  they 
go  wherever  I  go.  That  is  one  reason  and  the  second  is  that 
the  unexpected  death  of  Boris'  cousin  has  brought  us  nearer 
Court.  The  death  was  very  unexpected,  and  Boris,  being  heir 
to  the  estate  and  titles,  had  to  wait  over  the  funeral.  He 
wanted  me  to  go  with  him  and  Hugh — I  cannot  understand 
Boris.  It  may  be  that  he  has  developed  a  new  love  for  me, 
for  he  is  jealous  as  a  Moor." 

"But  you  are  alone  now,"  Crawford  interrupted  eagerly. 
"He  is  not  in  St.  Petersburg." 

"But  he  may  return  at  any  time,"  she  whispered  and 
gave  an  inarticulate  cry,  for  Crawford  had  caught  her  to  him. 
He  kissed  her,  murmuring  endearing  names  and  felt  her  heart 
fluttering  when  he  whispered, 

"Sonia,  darling!    Let  me  come  to-morrow?" 

In  the  madness  of  impulsive  passion  she  raised  her  head 
from  his  shoulder  and  promised,  "As  you  wish — to-morrow — 
but  Hugh,  I  am  afraid.  After  to-morrow  I  will  not  see  you 
again — alone,  until  we  leave  Russia." 

His  heart  beat  exultingly.  He  rose  and  lifted  her  to  her 
feet  and  held  her  soft  warm  arms  around  his  neck  while  she 
clung  tightly  to  him,  as  if  in  fear. 

' '  To-morrow  I  will  have  a  kiss  for  every  moment  of  unhap- 
piness  you  have  given  me  in  the  years  I  have  adored  you. ' ' 

He  whispered  the  words  with  passionate  fervor  as  she  leaned 
heavily  against  him,  for  she  suddenly  felt  nervous  and  un 
strung. 

" Hugh, "  she  breathed  almost  inaudibly.  "I  am  afraid.  If 
Boris  should  return — no,  no,  you  must  not  come — I  am 
afraid." 


SON  I  A,  COUNTESS  RAM  ON  IFF.  251 

"Do  not  be  absurd,  my  darling.  There  is  nothing  to  fear. 
Ramoniff  is  far  away.  He  always  advises  you  of  his  coming, 
and  he  is  too  aristocratic  to  do  anything  unexpected.  He  is 
not  going  to  change  the  habits  of  a  lifetime  by  surprising 
you.  Don't  think  of  him.  Don't  think  of  anything  but  our 
love." 

Whispering  caressing  words  he  bent  his  head  and  kissed 
her  red,  luscious  mouth,  their  lips  meeting  in  rapturous  sweet 
ness. 

' '  To-morrow. ' ' 

1 '  To-morrow, ' '  she  repeated  after  him  and  gently  disengag 
ing  herself  from  his  arms,  stepped  to  the  door  that  led  into 
the  private  hall  where  the  maid  was  waiting.  When  Crawford 
passed  through,  she  sighed  and  silently  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock. 

She  moved  languidly.  A  nervous  chill  made  her  shudder 
and  she  felt  horribly  alone  when  she  walked  into  her  dressing 
room  and  sat  down  at  the  table,  resting  her  arms  on  its  heavy 
lace  and  embroidery.  There  was  a  torment  in  her  soul,  a  sad 
longing  to  get  away  from  herself  and  to  rid  her  brain  of  hys 
terical  fears  that  unexpectedly  swept  over  her.  Somehow  it 
did  not  seem  true  that  Hugh  loved  her  and  that  she  loved  him. 
Had  she  promised  to  sacrifice  her  self-respect — her  husband's 
honor  ? 

"I  will  see  him  again  in  a  few  hours.  We  will  meet  at  the 
fete  and  I  will  tell  him  that  I  have  not  the  courage — that  I 
am  afraid — that  it  would  end  in  misery." 

She  toyed  with  the  silver  ornaments  on  the  table,  nervously 
placing  and  replacing  them,  sad  but  determined  to  be  true 
to  her  marriage  vows.  She  felt  that  when  she  closed  the  door 
on  Crawford,  she  freed  herself  from  his  influence.  "What 
power  is  it  that  fascinates  me  ?  It  is  not  love — it  is  something 
we  dare  not  mention,  even  to  our  own  hearts,"  she  thought 
as  she  wearily  rested  her  head  on  her  hand  and  glanced  into 
the  mirror  before  her. 


252  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Lieber  Gott!"  she  cried,  staring  at  Boris  Ramoniff's  face 
reflected  in  the  glass.  She  almost  fainted. 

Rainoniff  had  not  removed  his  fur  coat  and  the  collar  rose 
like  a  black  cloud  around  his  white  face.  His  moustache  and 
pointed  black  beard  seemed  to  bristle  and,  in  spite  of  fear, 
a  thought  that  her  husband  looked  like  Mephistopheles,  flashed 
through  Sonia's  mind.  But  the  seriousness  of  the  situation 
came  upon  her  with  full  force  when  she  saw  the  deadly  hatred 
in  the  cruel,  cold,  mirrored  eyes  and  although  powerless  to 
move  without  trembling,  she  tried  to  think  clearly. 

How  long  had  he  been  in  the  room  ?  Had  he  seen  Crawford  ? 
She  must  save  Hugh.  A  sudden  realization  that  she  did  love 
the  American,  shocked  her  almost  as  much  as  her  husband's 
surprising  appearance  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  life, 
actual  terror  assailed  her,  but  she  laughed  a  little  shallow 
laugh  of  nervousness  and  conciliation. 

"Why,  Boris,"  she  cried  eagerly,  trying  to  speak  naturally, 
though  apprehension  was  creeping  over  her.  "When  did  you 
return?  I  did  not  get  your  message." 

"I  did  not  send  one." 

His  voice  was  concentrated  and  vibrated  with  rage  and  he 
continued  to  gaze  at  her  fixedly,  his  eyes  flaring  maniacally. 
' '  Who  was  the  man  with  you  ? ' ' 

Sonia's  heart  leaped.  He  had  not  seen  Hugh.  He  had 
not  recognized  the  American's  voice.  She  felt  as  if  she  had 
escaped  from  danger,  and  drawing  herself  to  her  feet,  turned 
toward  her  husband,  erect  and  with  laughter  lurking  in  her 
eyes.  Her  beauty  enraged  Boris  Ramoniff  to  white  fury. 

"Who  was  here?  Answer  me  at  once,"  he  again  demanded, 
the  veins  on  his  brow  swelling  like  cords.  "Who  was  it?" 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  such  a  tone,  mon  cher,"  she  an 
swered  steadily.  "You  must  be  dreaming.  I  am  alone." 

"Sonia,  I  heard  a  man's  voice." 

Her  eyes  still  mocked  him  and  without  another  word,  Ra 
moniff  went  into  the  outer  room  and  locked  the  door  leading 


SON  I  A,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  253 

I  to  the  main  hall.  He  was  alone  with  his  wife,  free  from  in 
terruption,  and  returned  to  the  dressing  room  through  which 
Crawford  had  passed  such  a  short  time  before.  He  carefully 
removed  his  overcoat  and  laid  it  on  a  chair,  and  stood  before 
her.  Now  Sonia  Ramoniff  did  not  try  to  smile  and  it  was 
her  husband's  eyes  that  mocked. 

They  stood  face  to  face,  she,  battling  with  wild  despair,  and 
he  with  the  cold  glitter  in  his  eyes  that  told  her  that  all 
time  for  argument,  all  hope  for  love  and  mercy,  was  gone. 
She  was  almost  delirious  and  seemed  to  hear  Crawford's  voice 
whispering  "To-morrow."  But  she  would  never  see  Hugh 
again — they  would  not  dance  the  mazouka  at  the  fete — there 
would  be  no  to-morrow.  Her  wandering  wits  came  back  and 
she  looked  solemnly  into  her  husband's  face,  reading  the  peril 
at  hand ;  knowing  there  was  no  chance  to  escape  from  his  mad 
ness.  Fear  told  her  that  Ramoniff  believed  her  wanton,  and 
that  nothing  would  change  his  belief  in  her  guilt.  He  knew 
she  had  used  the  private  entrance  to  hide  her  visitor's  coming 
and  going  from  the  household,  and  he  would  never  believe 
that  she  had  only  been  silly,  weak,  even  wickedly  indiscreet, 
but  that  she  had  never  given  herself  to  another.  All  his  affec 
tion  and  trust  was  killed,  and  the  implacable  hatred  in  Boris 
Ramoniff 's  heart  claimed  vengeance — the  end  had  come — the 
end  of  life.  Horror  chilled  her  when  she  listened  to  his  voice. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  who  was  with  you?  Do  you 
think  I  will  learn  from  your  maid — the  servant  wrho  is  your 
confidant?" 

"There  was  no  one — no  one  was  here,"  she  lied  doggedly, 
setting  her  teeth  in  determination  as  grim  as  his  own.  "I 
swear  it,  Boris." 

"Why  do  you  try  to  deceive  me  further?  You,  my  wife, 
the  mother  of  my  children,  the  beautiful,  witty,  Countess 
Ramoniff.  Do  you  lie  to  shield  your  lover?  The  hound  who 
holds  rendezvous  with  a  wife  under  her  husband's  roof? 


254  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

Sonia,  I  want  no  man's  plaything  for  my  wife.    You  will  not 
disgrace  me  again." 

Her  breath  came  in  little  gasps  and  she  pressed  both  hands 
against  her  heart. 

' '  Once  you  loved  me,  Boris.    You  love  me  now,  dear. ' ' 

"Love  you,"  he  cried,  "Yes,  I  love  you — as  much  as  you 
love  me.  I  love  you  so  well  that  I  am  going  to  take  you  away 
from  the  world  and  its  temptations.  You  are  too  beautiful — 
too  kind — and  I  am  going  with  you  on  a  long  journey." 

She  stole  a  glance  at  his  face  and  saw  an  awful  tempest  of 
feeling  sweeping  over  him.  His  stertorous  breath  came  in 
gasps  and  drawing  something  from  his  pocket,  he  leaned  to 
ward  her. 

A  dog  howled  in  the  distance. 

She  read  the  warning  in  his  face  and  knew  what  was  coin 
ing — she  saw  her  doom  in  the  burning  depths  of  his  eyes. 

"Say  your  prayers,"  Bamoniff  commanded.  "Pray  that 
we  both  may  be  forgiven."  Then  rage  made  him  frenzied 
and  he  breathed  so  loudly  that  he  panted  like  an  animal. 
"You  demon,"  he  cried.  "You — who  have  blasted  my  life 
and  disgraced  my  children.  You  shameless  wanton,  you — 

Everything  turned  red  with  the  surging  of  blood  in  his 
brain  and  he  tottered  wildly  with  outstretched  arms,  gasped, 
dropped  his  revolver  and  fell  like  a  log — helpless  at  his  wife 's 
feet. 

Every  nerve  in  Sonia  Bamoniff 's  hair  seemed  to  bristle  and 
quiver.  She  looked  like  a  tawny  tigress  and  her  eyes  grew 
smaller  with  some  thought.  She  imagined  Bamoniff  had  fainted, 
and  stealthily  picked  up  the  weapon  he  had  dropped,  and  hid  it 
in  the  drawer  of  her  dressing  table,  then  gliding  swiftly  back 
to  him,  she  knelt  beside  him. 

"Boris!  Boris!"  she  wept.  "I  am  yours — yours  only 
and  forever.  Take  me  away.  Take  me  where  you  will.  I  love 
you*  All  I  want  is  you.  Think  of  the  children.  Believe  me 
— trust  me — do  not  ruin  our  lives  and  theirs." 


SON  I  A,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  255 

She  cried  wildly,  holding  him  in  her  arms  and  in  her  frenzy 
kissing  Kamoniff's  cold  face  again  and  again,  but  he  did  not 
move.  Something  in  the  dead  silence  of  the  room  caused  her 
to  lay  his  head  gently  on  the  floor  and  she  leaned  on  both 
hands,  staring  and  panting  into  the  face  beneath  her. 

He  was  harmless  now.  Something  told  her  he  was  dead  and 
in  her  mad  relief,  she  flung  herself  across  the  body,  looking 
into  the  eyes  rolled  upwards  until  only  a  portion  of  the  iris 
could  be  seen.  His  black  hair  fell  grotesquely  on  one  side  of 
his  face,  away  from  the  baldness  he  had  tried  to  cover  and 
his  jaw  dropped  in  a  hideous  smile. 

"He  is  dead,"  she  whispered,  and  gave  a  whimpering  cry, 
still  kneeling  beside  him,  her  yellow  braids  falling  over  her 
shoulders  and  around  her  face,  while  she  clasped  her  hands 
tightly.  She  must  be  calm.  She  must  think. 

"There  will  be  no  scandal,"  she  gasped.  "I  must  call  the 
servants." 

Like  all  persons  with  strong  intellects  she  unconsciously 
debated  with  herself  in  the  moment  of  danger.  She  nervously 
rose  to  her  feet,  still  trembling  violently,  and  her  glance 
wandered  around  the  chamber  while  she  thought  out  a  plan 
of  action. 

Hastily  putting  everything  in  the  magnificent  rooms  in  per 
fect  order,  even  going  into  her  sleeping  room  and  smoothing 
the  already  creaseless  couverlit  of  the  canopied,  massive  bed, 
she  returned  to  the  boudoir  and  unlocked  the  door.  Then 
she  roused  the  house  by  calling  for  her  maid  and  violently 
ringing  the  bell.  The  servants  hurried  to  her,  but  she  brushed 
them  aside  and  spoke  to  her  maid, 

"The  Count  is  ill.  Bring  Doctor  Alt  at  once.  Hurry- 
hurry — and  return  to  me." 

The  frightened  woman  disappeared  and,  forgetting  the  rest 
of  the  servants  who  hung  around  the  door,  Sonia  struck  her 
hands  together  in  another  paroxysm  of  agony.  Live  wires 


256  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

seemed  to  be  running  through  her  hair  and  the  shocking  scene 
with  Ramoniff,  the  fear  of  violent  death  and  his  sudden  seiz 
ure,  broke  her  nerve  and  appeared  to  have  blighted  all  her 
beauty,  and  withered  her  youth.  She  tried  to  gain  control  of 
herself,  but  burst  into  violent  weeping. 

" Boris,  oh,  my  God!"  she  cried.    "My  poor  Boris." 

As  do  most  Russian  families  of  wealth,  the  Ramoniffs  kept 
their  own  physician  in  the  house,  and  the  maid  returned  with 
the  doctor.  He  had  been  with  the  Ramoniffs  for  years — since 
long  before  the  marriage  of  Boris,  and  had  attended  Sonia 
during  the  birth  of  her  children.  He  cast  a  startled  look  at 
the  distraught  woman  standing  with  her  hands  tightly  clasped 
over  her  breast,  then  he  knelt  down  beside  the  motionless  form 
on  the  carpet.  He  lifted  the  head  for  an  instant  before  gently 
laying  it  back  and  opening  the  clothes  and  fumbling  over  the 
silk  and  linen  over  the  heart.  His  examination  was  brief. 

"Heart  failure,"  he  declared  solemnly.  "I  warned  him. 
Nothing  can  be  done. ' ' 

Sonia  heard  the  directions  given  to  the  servants  and  saw  the 
body  of  her  husband  lifted  and  borne  from  her  dressing  room. 
She  attempted  to  follow  but  the  physician  held  her  back. 

"You  can  do  nothing,  madame.  You  must  remain  here," 
he  said  with  quiet  authority.  "I  will  attend  to  everything 
and  you  must  obey  me." 

"Send  my  boys  to  me,"  she  cried,  then  changed  her  mind. 
"No,  I  do  not  want  to  see  them.  I  want  to  be  alone." 

Doctor  Alt  was  very  much  moved  and  said  comfortingly, 

"I  am  positive  the  Count  did  not  suffer.  Yes,  it  is  best 
for  you  to  be  alone,"  and  seeing  her  shiver  as  with  cold,  he 
added  gently,  "You  must  be  strong  and  try  to  compose  your 
self." 

He  left  a  sleeping  potion  on  the  dressing  table,  and  after 
whispering  instructions  to  the  maid,  hurried  away. 

Sonia  Ramoniff  stood  quite  still  until  her  maid  disrobed 


SON1A,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  257 

her  and  then  sent  the  woman  away.  Her  glance  wandered  to 
the  gilded  mirror  over  the  table  where  she  had  seen  her  hus 
band's  face  reflected  such  a  short  time  before.  Would  she 
ever  be  able  to  forget  the  hate  in  the  face  ?  Wearily  she  turned 
to  one  of  the  windows  and  gazed  over  St.  Petersburg,  already 
commencing  to  sparkle  and  glitter  with  its  thousands  of  lights. 
The  short  afternoon  was  past  and  her  chamber  grew  dark,  but 
she  did  not  draw  the  blinds,  and  she  commenced  to  feel  ex 
alted — mad. 

She  had  been  near  to  disgraceful  death,  and  felt  that  she 
had  conquered  fate  in  the  face  of  defeat;  then  she  shuddered 
when  she  recollected  how  near  she  had  been  to  accompanying 
Boris  Ramoniff  on  his  journey — on  his  journey  to  the  great 
beyond.  The  mood  passed,  and  the  hours  dragged  miserably, 
although  she  bathed  and  tried  to  compose  herself,  but  in  spite 
of  the  draught  the  doctor  had  left  for  her,  she  could  not  sleep. 
Whenever  she  shut  her  eyes  she  could  see  the  face  of  her  dead 
husband,  but  at  last  the  narcotic  soothed  her  and  towards  day 
light  she  fell  into  a  trance-like  slumber. 

But  in  a  few  hours  she  awakened  and  memory  returned  with 
crushing  force  and  she  was  torn  between  grief  and  remorse. 

When  her  woman  brought  her  chocolate  and  papers,  she 
gave  Sonia  one  startled  glance  and  nearly  dropped  the  tray 
she  held  in  her  hands.  Hastily  placing  it  on  a  table  near  the 
bed,  she  stood  open-m6uthed,  staring  at  her  mistress. 

"Your  hair,  madame!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  madame!  Your 
beautiful  hair!" 

Tremblingly  Sonia  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  then  sharply 
called  for  her  mirror.  Her  glorious,  burnished  hair  was  white 
as  snow — would  be  an  ever-present  reminder  of  the  hour  of 
agony  and  fear  she  had  passed  through,  but  she  impatiently 
laid  aside  the  hand-glass  after  an  amazed  glance  at  her  re 
flection,  and  eagerly  scanned  the  writing  on  the  envelopes  in 
her  mail. 


258  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

A  thrill  of  pain  passed  through  her  when  she  found  Craw 
ford's  card  and  a  note,  brief  but  eloquent  to  Sonia  Ramoniff. 
The  few  lines  bore  no  heading  and  she  read, 

"Am  returning  to  Paris  immediately.    Faithfully, 

Hugh." 

The  tears  ran  down  her  pale  cheeks.  The  enormity — the 
sickening  horror  of  the  tragedy  that  had  come  between  Craw 
ford  and  herself  was  revealed  without  any  extenuating  com 
fort.  She  knew  that  an  impassable  gulf  separated  them. 
They  had  outraged  the  dead  man,  if  not  in  act,  they  were 
guilty  in  desire  and  intention  and  she  was  too  frank  to  deny 
her  wickedness.  She  had  not  loved  Ramoniff  as  he  deserved, 
but  too  late,  she  appreciated  the  pathetic  devotion  he  had  given 
her,  and  he  was  the  father  of  her  children. 

Without  touching  her  breakfast,  she  dressed  and  went  to 
the  chapel  of  the  grand  mansion  where  her  husband  was 
resting.  She  moved  silently,  looking  like  a  spirit  in  her  trail 
ing  white  woolen  robes  and  crown  of  white  hair. 

Bending  over  the  casket,  she  held  the  dead  face  tenderly  be 
tween  her  slender  hands  and  whispered,  "I  will  be  good, 
Boris.  I  am  sorry,  dear.  Forgive  your  Sonia  who  will  pray 
for  forgiveness  and  rest  for  your  soul  every  day  until  she 
dies." 


In  her  grief,  the  children  that  Sonia  had  selfishly  kept  out 
of  her  daily  life,  crept  into  her  heart  and  brought  solace. 

The  days  following  the  death  of  her  husband,  dragged  with 
leaden  feet  and  when  the  period  of  waiting  prescribed  by  the 
custom  of  the  country  and  Romaniff's  rank  were  ended,  the 
body  of  Boris  Ramoniff  was  taken  to  his  estates  in  the  In 
terior,  and  deposited  beside  the  cousin  he  had  so  lately  wept 
over,  in  the  vault  that  had  been  the  resting  place  of  the 
Romaniffs  for  generations. 


SON  I  A,  COUNTESS  RAMON  IFF.  259 

The  widow,  enveloped  in  crepe,  with  her  two  little  boys  be 
side  her,  was  profoundly  moved,  and  her  figure  trembled  con 
vulsively  while  she  assisted  with  an  aching  heart  to  the  beau 
tiful,  impressive  service  of  the  Russian  Church. 

Her  life  would  be  one  long  regret  and  expiation,  and  every 
word  of  the  solemn  burial  service  scorched  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
St.  Petersburg. 


261 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ST.  PETERSBURG. 

When  he  left  Sonia,  Crawford  followed  the  maid  down 
the  narrow  stairs,  slipping  a  gold  coin  into  the  woman's 
hand  before  he  walked  quickly  through  the  arched  door. 
Now  that  Sonia  had  given  him  her  promise,  he  experienced 
no  anxiety  about  the  danger  she  might  experience  and 
tranquilly  considered  her  husband  a  mere  shadow  between 
them. 

The  cold,  stinging  air  of  the  winter's  afternoon  swept  up 
over  the  canals  and  cut  around  the  buildings,  but  Crawford 
did  not  seek  the  protection  of  a  sleigh  or  carriage  and 
swung  along  the  Moika.  Love  is  heady  wine  and  he  was  as 
happy  as  it  is  possible  for  a  person  to  be. 

The  face  and  form  of  Sonia  Avas  like  a  picture  before  his 
eyes.  He  could  see  the  ropes  of  tawny  hair,  feel  the  pink- 
tipped  fingers  caressing  his  face.  He  thought  of  the  volup 
tuous  figure  of  the  woman  he  now  loved,  and  the  red  lips 
ready  for  his  kisses.  Slave  as  he  was  to  his  passions,  some 
thing  of  the  old,  wild  spirit  of  his  pioneer  forefathers  made 
him  want  to  go  back,  and,  in  spite  of  her  husband  and  the 
world,  carry  her  away  with  him.  Then  his  eyes  almost  closed 
with  their  rapid  blinking  and  he  tried  to  control  the  confusing 
thoughts  that  dazed  him  and  he  walked  on  and  on.  He  did 
not  hear  the  traffic  nor  notice  the  animation  of  the  thorough 
fare  and  did  not  see  the  people  passing  him,  hurrying  before 
the  cold  wind. 

"Whenever  a  chill  blast  from  the  north  pierced  him,  he 
went  into  a  restaurant  and  drank  a  vodka,  tipped  the  waiter 
and  returned  to  the  street  and,  at  first,  the  fiery  liquor  did 
not  seem  to  dull  his  faculties. 

263 


264  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

He  must  walk.  He  must  have  action,  and  he  strode  along 
the  Nevski  and  past  the  barracks.  The  low  buildings  looked 
bare  and  deserted  and  he  wondered  how  many  prisoners 
were  confined  there.  He  remembered  that  Sonia  had  warned 
him  against  the  Marquise  Tania  and  wondered  if  Tania 's 
husband  had  been  imprisoned  there  or  sent  to  Schlussel- 
burg  and  what  crime  the  Marquise  could  have  been  guilty 
of.  He  couldn't  understand  why  a  man  with  immense 
wealth  such  as  Tania 's  husband  had  possessed  and  with 
titles  and  estates  could  be  so  unwise  as  to  mix  up  with  re 
formers  and  revolutionists.  Tania  must  have  been  in  serious 
trouble  when,  in  spite  of  her  great  wealth  and  influential 
friends,  she  could  not  return  to  the  country  she  belonged 
to — and  adored. 

He  recalled  his  unpleasant  experience  at  the  frontier, 
but  concluded  that  he  had  exaggerated  its  seriousness.  At 
any  rate,  there  was  no  danger  now,  and  after  to-morrow 
Tania  would  be  relegated  to  past  experiences.  Still,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  her.  No  doubt  she  was  the 
tool  of  some  terrible  society  who  used  her  money  and 
talents  Avithout  her  knowledge  as  to  the  real  danger.  All 
women  have  fads  and  it  wasn't  much  more  serious  than 
joining  the  militant  suffragists — and  she  loved  him  de 
votedly.  Poor  Tania. 

He  was  in  a  peculiar  mood.  He  commenced  to  feel  drowsy 
after  he  reached  his  hotel  and  slept  for  half  an  hour.  When 
he  awakened,  happy  and  keenly  vigorous,  he  took  a  cold 
plunge  and,  putting  on  the  clothes  the  valet  had  laid  out, 
went  down  to  the  foyer  to  join  his  friends  and  drink  an 
American  cocktail. 

He  felt  fresh  and  exhilarated  when  he  entered  the  beauti 
ful  rooms  leading  to  the  banqueting  hall. 

The  Hotel  d  'Europe  is  celebrated  for  its  luxury,  and  when 
Crawford  walked  through  the  immense  chambers,  white,  ex- 


ST.  PETERSBURG.  265 

quisitely  delicate,  and  brilliant  with  light,  the  lines  of  Dry- 
den  sung  through  his  mind — 

"A  very  merry,  dancy,  drinking, 
Laughing,  quaffing,  and  unthinking  time" 

and  he  was  joyous  and  self-sufficient  in  spirit  when  he 
passed  the  servants  in  livery,  standing  watchful  and  atten 
tive. 

Most  of  the  men  were  in  uniform  and  their  military  dress 
contrasted  with  the  entrancing  loveliness  of  the  women, 
who,  blazing  with  jewels,  made  an  impression  of  extrava 
gant  beauty. 

The  strains  of  the  celebrated  orchestra  floated  on  the  air 
and  Crawford  felt  the  stimulus  of  the  music. 

When  a  delicate  and  lovely  woman  came  toward  him, 
smiling  and  bowing  on  the  arm  of  a  grave  old  General  whose 
breast  was  covered  with  medals,  the  American  knew  that 
her  salute  was  an  invitation  to  join  her,  but  he  chose  not  to 
see  it  and  merely  bowed  low. 

He  was  waiting  for  Sonia  Ramoniff.  But  she  did  not 
appear  and  no  one  seemed  to  note  her  absence,  save  Craw 
ford.  He  wondered  what  was  detaining  her,  and  even 
among  the  inspiriting  company  around  him  could  not  banish 
her  from  his  thoughts.  He  pictured  her  arrival  and  knew 
her  face,  so  tenderly  dear  and  sweet,  would  be  raised  to 
his,  and  glorying  in  his  power  over  her,  he  looked  very 
handsome  and  eager  while  he  watched  the  arriving  guests. 

"Monsieur  Crawford  is  impatient.  Sonia  is  late,"  laughed 
a  tall  woman,  gorgeous  in  white  satin  and  emeralds.  "Per 
haps  she  is  not  coming. ' ' 

"Oh,  she  will  be  here.  She  is  coming  with  the  Bashskis, 
and  they  are  always  late,"  her  fresh-colored  escort  replied 
as  he  carelessly  glanced  down  the  rooms.  The  scene  was 
getting  more  animated  and  everyone  was  preparing  to  go 


266  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

to  the  splendid  gold  dining-room  which  had  been  decorated 
for  the  evening,  and,  offering  his  arm,  he  whispered— 

"It  is  a  pretty  sight,  et  tu  est  ires  en  beaute  si  soir." 

A  young  Duke  passed  with  a  vivacious  French  woman 
on  his  arm.  He  was  making  himself  exceedingly  pleasant, 
and  laughed  delightedly  at  some  remark  of  the  woman  who 
was  a  recognized  wit. 

The  tables  in  the  dining-room  gleamed  with  costly  glass 
and  silver,  and  under  the  exhilaration  of  the  mirth,  music 
and  champagne,  the  diners  extracted  all  the  pleasure  of 
the  hour,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  the  gold  salle-a-manger  ever 
hfld  a  merrier  party.  The  dinner  was  even  gayer  than  it 
promised  to  be  and  the  spoiled  darlings  of  caste  and  wealth 
found  everything  up  to  even  their  prodigal  expectations. 

Among  the  ladies  was  a  gifted  and  fascinating  young 
woman — one  of  the  Imperial  Ballet — mingling  among  them 
and  being  petted  and  admired.  She  was  a  favorite  at  Court 
and  enjoyed  the  intimate  friendship  of  many  aristocrats. 
Her  beautiful  figure  shoAved  to  advantage  when  she  superbly 
walked  through  the  rooms  on  the  arm  of  a  high  official,  and 
the  haughty  men  and  women  looked  at  her  with  expressions 
of  admiration.  Russian  nobles  have  been  known  to  gain 
much  valuable  information  from  Imperial  dancers. 

The  Bashskis  had  arrived  without  the  Countess  Ramoniff 
and  with  much  gay  talk  and  musical  laughter  the  dinner 
progressed  to  an  end.  When  Comte  Bashski  rose  to  his  feet 
and  lifted  his  hand  the  musicians  stopped  playing. 

"A  toast,"  he  cried  in  rich,  ringing  tones,  "to  our  little 
Father.  To  our  Czar." 

Every  man  was  on  his  feet  and  drained  his  glass,  watch 
ing  Bashski  and  simultaneously  with  the  comte  's  movement, 
crushed  his  empty,  frail  goblet  on  the  table — the  musical 
crash  of  splintered  crystal  surprising  Crawford  into  terror. 
He  had  forgotten  the  peculiar  custom  and  stood  transfixed, 


ST.  PETERSBURG.  267 

nis  empty  glass  in  his  rigid  hand  until  his  neighbor  gently 
took  it  from  him  and  broke  it. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  Crawford  burst  out.  "I  do  not 
understand. ' ' 

"It  is  apparent,  n'est-ce  pas?"  the  laughing  woman  replied, 
amused  at  the  American's  expression.  "The  glasses  are  not 
to  be  used  again  after  being  honored  by  a  toast  to  our 
Czar." 

Crawford's  nerves  wrere  beating  horribly  and  his  eyes 
dimmed,  but,  although  he  was  almost  blind  for  the  moment, 
he  managed  to  smile.  When  the  company  left  the  table  he 
took  his  companion  to  the  white  salon,  where  the  guests  were 
drawing  together  in  groups;  some  to  dance,  others  to 
gamble,  and  a  few  to  listen  to  the  music  of  the  orchestra 
and  celebrated  artists  who  had  been  engaged  to  sing  a 
few  solos. 

Sitting  beside  a  stately  dowager  and  trying  to  be  enter 
taining,  although  Sonia's  absence  weighed  heavily  on  his 
spirit,  Crawrford  was  transfixed  to  hear  a  voice  behind  him 
whisper — 

"Have  you  heard  the  shocking  news?  Boris  Ramoniff  is 
dead.  His  poor  wife  was  alone  with  him.  She  is  pros 
trated." 

"It  cannot  be  possible,"  another  voice  exclaimed.  "Why, 
I  did  not  know  he  was  in  St.  Petersburg.  He  was  not  ex- 
Dected." 

''No,  he  returned  unexpectedly.  The  Countess  intended 
coming  with  us  to-night  and  we  heard  of  the  tragedy 
when  we  called  for  her.  Doctor  Alt  has  telephoned  the 
news  to  the  authorities." 

Crawford  turned  and  saw  that  Comte  Bashski  was  speak 
ing. 

He  tried  to  speak  to  the  lady  beside  him,  but  the  breath 
seemed  to  have  left  his  body  and  he  gasped  and  closed  his 
eyes. 


268  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

The  dowager,  who  had  not  heard  Bashski  's  words,  thought 
the  American  had  been  drinking  too  freely  and  smiled  at 
him  with  tolerant  kindness.  She  had  sons  of  her  own  and 
Crawford  was  still  young  and  very  good-looking,  so  the 
gentle  old  patrician  pretended  not  to  see  the  pale  face  of 
the  almost  unconscious  man  and,  joining  a  passing  friend, 
walked  away. 

To  his  dying  day  Hugh  Crawford  could  never  understand 
why  no  one  mentioned  or  seemed  to  notice  the  emotion  he 
must  have  betrayed  when  he  sat  huddled  in  the  chair,  trying 
to  overcome  the  haziness  that  blurred  everything  and  every 
body  into  ghost-like  mysteries.  But  he  sat  still  until  he 
succeeded  in  drawing  his  wits  together  and  gradually  his 
sight  returned. 

In  spite  of  the  momentary  blindness,  his  doctor's  warning 
was  forgotten  in  the  shock  of  the  terrible  news  he  had 
heard.  When  did  Ramoniff  return?  Did  he  kill  himself 
or — but  he  dare  not  think  what  might  have  happened  since 
he  left  Sonia. 

Gossip  of  the  death  ran  through  the  rooms  bringing  re 
gret  and  oppression  and  more  than  one  pair  of  eyes  stared 
queerly  at  Crawford,  who  was  known  to  be  devoted  to 
Sonia  Ramoniff. 

' '  I  wonder  if  they  suspect  me  ? "  he  thought  with  affright, 
but  with  astounding  self-control  he  managed  to  appear  cool 
and  calm  when  he  sought  his  host  and,  pleading  illness,  re 
tired  from  the  salon. 

"I  understand,"  his  friend  whispered  sympathetically. 
"I  will  see  you  in  the  morning.  It  is  most  unfortunate." 

When  Crawford  disappeared  the  man  added,  ''No  wonder 
Crawford  is  ill.  I  wonder  how  much  he  is  to  blame.  Per 
haps  it  was  suicide." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  career  Crawford  folt  that  he  was 
under  distrust  and  his  mind  Avas  filled  with  agony  and 
alarm.  He  had  received  such  unexpected  blows  from  fate 


ST.  PETERSBURG.  269 

that  the  chill  of  suspicion  seemed  to  break  his  spirit.  Hop 
ing  to  free  himself  from  oppressive  thoughts  he  ordered 
brandy,  and  dismissing  the  valet,  shut  himself  in  his  rooms 
and  drank  himself  into  a  sodden  sleep. 

On  waking,  his  first  thought  was  of  Sonia.  He  recalled 
her  promise,  then  a  blasting  recollection  of  the  tragedy 
struck  him  with  odious  force. 

The  fear  of  Eussian  hatred  and  suspicion — the  possibility 
that  he  might  be  implicated — or  that  Sonia 's  maid  might 
mention  his  visit  and  the  use  of  the  private  door,  made  him 
shudder  and  he  intended  to  leave  St.  Petersburg  and  Rus 
sia — flee  from  the  land  so  full  of  wealth  and  woe  and  tor 
menting  terrors. 

He  rose  from  his  bed  and,  lifting  the  inside  sash,  unfast 
ened  a  pane  o$  the  outside  window,  and  while  his  glance 
strayed  into  the  street,  a  company  of  cavalry  dashed  by. 

To  the  nerve-shattered  man  their  appearance  contained  a 
menace,  and  his  face,  pale  and  bloated  from  the  night's 
drinking,  turned  chalky  in  its  pallor.  He  telephoned  the 
office  for  a  waiter.  He  did  not  want  to  go  among  strangers. 
He  wanted  his  breakfast  served  in  his  rooms. 

"I  was  a  fool  to  come  here  and  now  I  will  never  see 
Sonia  again.  Ramoniff  will  ahvays  be  between  us,"  he 
cried,  tears  of  self-pity  in  his  eyes.  "He  was  a  good  man, 
and  I — how  much  am  I  to  blame  for  his  death?  He  died  in 
Sonia 's  rooms — and  she  did  not  expect  him." 

He  clasped  both  hands  over  his  aching  head,  frightened 
to  death  by  his  fears,  and  when  the  servant  came  and  gave 
the  generous  American  a  smiling  glance,  Crawford  imag 
ined  the  man  was  watching  him  with  diabolical  suspicion. 

"I  am  in  great  danger,"  he  muttered  when  the  waiter 
left  with  the  order.  "Ramoniff  was  a  patriotic  Russian  and 
had  friends  in  all  walks  of  life.  I  may  be  assassinated. 
There  have  been  mysterious  disappearances." 


270  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

He  was  still  trembling  under  the  thrusts  of  guilty  con 
science  and  wondering  why  he  had  been  so  reckless  and 
careless  of  danger  when  the  waiter  knocked  at  the  door. 
The  servant  re-entered  the  room,  bringing  a  tray  and 
arranged  Crawford's  breakfast  on  a  table  near  the  window. 
He  moved  quietly,  vaguely  conscious  that  his  presence  dis 
turbed  the  American,  and  with  a  deprecating  cough  asked 
if  he  should  pour  the  coffee. 

"Yes,  then  bring  me  a  time-table."  Crawford  sat  down 
and  laid  his  napkin  across  his  knee.  The  hot  coffee  helped 
restore  his  natural  poise,  and  when  the  man  was  leaving 
the  room  the  American  spoke  in  his  usual  tone.  "You 
need  not  return.  Tell  the  valet  to  bring  me  the  railway 
schedule. ' ' 

Crawford  was  surprised  to  find  his  appetite  had  returned 
and  with  it  a  little  of  his  lost  confidence  and  when  the  valet 
came  with  the  time-table,  he  looked  it  'over  and  solemnly 
finished  a  hearty  breakfast. 

Having  found  that  an  early  train  left  for  Berlin,  his  brain 
became  alert  and,  impelled  with  a  desire  to  retire  grace 
fully,  he  wrote  a  line  to  Sonia,  and,  although  it  was  still 
early  morning,  ordered  that  it  be  delivered  immediately. 

Unpleasant  emotions  were  allayed  and  the  oppressive  fear 
and  loneliness  had  left  him.  The  proud  air  of  assurance 
characteristic  to  him  came  back  and  he  thought  quizzically 
that  he  had  escaped  dangerous  complications;  his  love  for 
Sonia  appeared  to  have  been  perilous,  but  destiny  had  been 
kind  and  he  frankly  fled,  without  recognizing  that  selfish 
misgivings  dominated  his  humor. 

From  the  table  beside  him  he  picked  up  the  morning 
paper  and  read  the  mention  of  the  sudden  death  of  Count 
Boris  Ramoniff  and  the  widow's  great  sorrow,  but  there  was 
nothing  sensational.  It  was  merely  the  passing  of  a  prom 
inent  and  beloved  nobleman  who  had  been  cut  off  in  the 


ST.  PETERSBURG.  271 

best  years  of  his  life  by  a  visitation  from  the  Almighty,  and 
the  journal  expressed  satisfaction  that  Ramoniff  had  left 
sons  to  inherit  his  titles  and  estates. 

While  the  valet  was  packing  the  trunks,  the  young  Rus 
sian  who  had  given  the  banquet  the  night  previous,  strolled 
into  Crawford's  rooms.  He  liked  the  American  and  felt 
sorry  to  see  him  preparing  to  leave,  but  he  thought  Craw 
ford  was  doing  the  proper  thing  to  drop  out  of  sight.  If  he 
had  been  in  the  same  position  it  is  what  he  would  have 
done. 

"I  am  leaving  St.  Petersburg  to-day — by  the  earliest 
train,"  Crawford  said.  "I  am  greatly  indebted  to  you  for 
many  courtesies  and  hope  to  reciprocate.  I  am  going 
directly  to  Paris." 

"If  you  will  permit  I  will  go  to  the  train  with  you,"  the 
young  man  volunteered  amiably  and  an  hour  later  the  two 
men  entered  the  station,  chatting  animatedly  and  promising 
to  see  each  other  in  France. 

When  the  train  started,  Crawford  settled  back  in  the 
comfortable  plush  chair,  his  strained  nerves  were  relaxed, 
and  he  plumed  himself  on  his  successful  escape  from  a  dan 
gerous  entanglement.  He  drew  the  newspaper  he  had 
already  glanced  through  from  his  overcoat  pocket  where 
the  valet  had  thoughtfully  stuffed  it  and  he  was  rudely 
awakened  from  his  complacency  when  his  eye  caught  the 
censored  mention  of  a  discovered  revolutionary  plot  and  he 
seemed  to  collapse  when  he  read — 

"Police  discover  a  new  revolutionary  plot.  A  number  of 
arrests  have  been  made.  Damisoff  and  Schmoltze  captured 
in  the  home  of  Olga  Linoff.  Incriminating  papers  inculpating 
several  members  of  the  duma  secured  and  complete  plans  of 
the  Czar's  winter  palace  found  secreted  in  a  small  Japanese 
toy.  Underground  entrances  discovered  in  the  nick  of  time. 
Gigantic  plot  to  kill  the  royal  family,  frustrated.  The  notori- 


272 


uus  Tania  Cherimiski,  widow  of  the  Marquis  Michael  Cheri- 
miski  believed  to  be  instigator  of  the  conspiracy.  More  arrests 
expected.'' 

Hugh  Crawford  was  on  the'  verge  of  prostration.  He 
clutched  the  paper  with  his  left  hand,  shaking  as  with 
ague,  his  jaw  dropping  in  amazement  and  his  right  hand 
laid  over  his  eyes.  His  alcohol-soaked  brain  teemed  with 
horrible  fantasies.  Perhaps  something  would  detain  him 
in  his  infernal  country — would  the  train  never  start? 

"The  Japanese  idol!  The  Japanese  idol!"  he  groaned. 
With  shaking  hand  he  drew  his  wratch  from  his  pocket.  It 
must  be  time  to  start.  His  thumb  touched  the  spring  and  he 
saAv  a  dark,  sAveet  face  looking  at  him  from  the  case  of  the 
time-piece. 

"Oh,  there  is  no  one  else  who  really  cares  but  she.  I'll  go 
back  to  the  States.  I'll  go  home.  I'm  going  back  to  Anno." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
Burning  Bridges. 


273 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BURNING  BRIDGES. 

"I'm  going  back  to  my  own  country.  I'm  going  to 
America,"  Hugh  Crawford  told  his  man  one  day  after  he 
had  returned  to  Paris.  "You  will  have  three  months'  ad 
vance  salary.  That  will  give  you  plenty  of  time  to  go  to 
England  or  find  another  place  here.  "Would  you  like  me  to 
write  you  a  letter  of  recommendation?" 

"I  suppose  you  won't  take  a  man  with  you  to  America, 
sir?"  asked  Saunders  meekly.  "I  have  been  with  you  for  a 
long  time,  sir." 

"But  you  wouldn't  want  to  live  in  the  States,  would 
you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  would  be  very  glad  to,  sir.  I  hope  you  won't 
think  I  have  been  taking  a  liberty,  sir,  or — 

"You  haven't  been  getting  into  trouble  while  I  was  away, 
have  you?" 

Crawford  spoke  irritably.  He  feared  anything  unusual 
and  a  sense  of  failure  burned  in  his  heart.  He  had  been 
defeated,  routed,  discomfited  by  fate,  and  the  future  loomed 
dark  and  troublous  and  his  one  great  desire  was  to  get  away 
from  Europe. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'taking  liberties,'  Saunders?"  he 
demanded. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  Saunders  blushed  furiously, 
"but  I  wrote  Miss  Dora  that  I  would  come  to  the  States  at 
the  first  opportunity  and — " 

"Miss  Dora!"  burst  out  Crawford.  "Who  in  the  devil 
is  Miss  Dora?  A  woman  doesn't  want  you  for  a  valet,  does 
she?" 

275 


276  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

''No,  thank  you,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "I  would  like 
to  be  her  husband  if  you  don't  mind.  She  is  Mrs.  Craw 
ford's  woman." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  Crawford's  face  fol 
lowed  by  a  rush  of  blood  and  for  the  first  time  since  leaving 
Russia  he  laughed  loud  and  heartily  until  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes. 

Instead  of  being  resentful  or  mortified,  Saunders  was  de 
lighted  to  see  the  pall  of  gloom  lifted  and  smiled  sheepishly. 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  she  will  have  me,  sir, ' '  he  confided.  ' '  She 
told  me  she'd  not  want  to  leave  Mrs.  Crawford." 

''She  told  you?"  exclaimed  Crawford.  "When  did  you 
ask  her?" 

"It  was  love  at  first  sight  with  me,  sir.  I  asked  her  in 
London — when  you  first  took  me  into  your  service." 

"Well,  I'll  be  dashed!"  Crawford's  eyes  met  the  older 
man's  steady  gaze  and  he  was  not  above  asking  questions 
when  occasion  demanded.  "Did  Dora  write  you  anything 
about  my  wife?  I  suppose  you  exchange  letters,  and,  of 
course,  you  know  there  was  a  misunderstanding  between 
Mrs.  Crawford  and  me.  You  couldn't  help  but  know  it." 

"I  never  know  anything,  sir,  but  Dora  did  write  me  that 
Mrs.  Crawford  is  very  gay  and  admired.  Several  very  in 
fluential  gentlemen  have  tried  to  court  her — but  it  may  be 
only  servants'  gossip." 

"Of  course  it  is,  "  Crawford  answered  indignantly.  "But 
I'm  glad  I  won't  have  to  look  for  another  valet.  I'm  not 
sure  I  could  get  along  without  you,  Saunders.  T  regretted 
not  taking  you  with  me  to  St.  Petersburg." 

"Thank  you.    You  make  me  very  proud,  sir." 

Crawford  decided  to  keep  his  furnished  apartment  in 
Paris.  It  was  a  delightful  pied  de  terre  and  would  be  ready 
if  Anne  wanted  to  take  a  run  over  to  France. 

He  realized  how  blind  he  had  been  in  imagining  that  the 
Marquise  Tania  had  ever  looked  upon  him  as  other  than 


BURNING  BRIDGES.  277 

a  simple  tool.  Her  apartment  in  the  Rue  Cherche  Midi 
was  closed  and  most  of  her  acquaintances  seemed  to  have 
disappeared  and  the  ones  Crawford  accidentally  ran  across 
avoided  any  mention  of  her  name.  No  one  cared  to  be 
known  as  the  friend  of  the  dangerous  woman  who  had 
nearly  dragged  Crawford  into  public  disgrace,  and  the 
world  was  still  appalled  by  the  daring  of  the  plot  which 
had  been  so  near  success. 

"It's  a  clean  slate  for  me,"  he  communed.  "I've  sown 
my  wild  oats.  I'm  going  to  settle  down." 

He  watched  Saunders  arranging  furniture  and  furnish 
ings  for  the  inspection  of  the  agent  who  was  to  take  charge 
of  the  apartment.  Among  other  things  the  man  collected 
photographs  and  personal  treasures  that  he  knew  Crawford 
would  not  leave,  and  when  he  placed  some  portraits  in  a 
folio  Crawford  growled — 

"1  want  to  look  through  that.  Put  it  on  the  table  and 
you  may  go.  I'll  ring  when  I  want  you." 

Dignified  and  silent,  Saunders  obeyed  and  left  the  room 
to  go  about  the  dismantling  of  other  personal  decorations 
in  the  apartment. 

Since  his  return  to  Paris,  Crawford  had  been  drinking 
more  than  ever,  but  though  the  liquor  benumbed  his  facul 
ties  and  he  sometimes  mingled  with  the  old  crowd  who  wel 
comed  him  with  open  arms,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  zest 
for  license  and  wild  living.  In  spite  of  his  natural  weak 
ness  he  was  changed — and  for  the  better. 

His  intention  of  going  to  Washington  to  seek  his  wife 
and  ask  her  love  and  forgiveness  imbued  him  with  ambition 
to  "brace  up,"  leave  the  foolish  and  contaminated  past  be 
hind  and  live  a  clean  and  honorable  life.  If  the  trouble 
with  his  eyes  would  only  leave  him  he  would  take  up  his 
profession  in  earnest.  He  knew  it  had  grown  to  be  a  jest 
among  his  friends,  but  ho  would  show  them  that  his  mother's 


278  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

belief  in  him  had  been  right — and  he  would  make  Anno 
proud  of  him  yet. 

When  he  thought  of  her  now  he  was  surprised  to  feel 
ambitions  surging  through  his  brain.  He  had  neglected 
her — apparently  forgotten  her  existence  for  years — but  now 
that  fate  rebuffed  him  and  nature  threatened  to  take  her 
revenge  by  dimming  his  sight,  he  turned  to  her  with  satis 
fied  belief  in  his  power  over  her  and  confidence  that  she 
would  forgive  and  forget — be  glad  to  re-marry  him. 

"My  little  Anne,"  he  muttered,  and  lifted  a  handful  of 
photographs  from  the  table  where  Saunders  had  left  them. 
He  looked  long  at  a  picture  of  Anne.  It  was  the  one  she 
had  sent  him  from  La  Conner  before  coming  to  London  and 
he  stared  remorsefully  at  the  sweet  young  face.  "I've  been 
a  miserable  cad,  but  she  loves  me  and  she'll  forgive  me.  I 
wonder  if  it  wouldn't  be  best  to  write  her  that  I  am  coming. " 

He  sat  at  his  desk  and  wrote  a  lengthy  and  eloquent 
letter,  breathing  words  of  love  and  passion,  for  Crawford 
was  now  a  master  at  writing  love-letters.  "You  have 
always  been  such  a  good,  true  woman,  dear,"  he  wrote. 
"When  I  hold  you  again  in  my  arms  I  know  you  will  heap 
'coals  of  fire'  on  my  head  by  forgiving  me  and  take  me 
back  into  your  life. ' '  The  letter  continued  with  expressions 
of  sweet  and  tender  fondness  and  was  the  only  real  love- 
letter  he  had  ever  written  to  Anne. 

In  the  days  of  their  engagement  he  had  never  felt  like 
writing  long  or  frankly  affectionate  missives.  He  had  always 
left  a  loophole  of  escape.  But  it  was  different  now,  and 
Crawford  contentedly  sealed  the  letter  and  carelessly  threw 
it  over  to  the  table. 

He  did  not  see  that  when  he  lifted  up  the  sheaf  of  por 
traits  the  letter  he  had  written  to  Anne  had  been  caught 
between  two  pictures  which  he  brushed  aside  with  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  He  searched  until  he  collected  all  of  Sonia 


BURNING  BRIDGES.  279 

, 

Ramoniff  's  likenesses  and,  with  a  curious  feeling  of  regret, 
laid  them  on  top  of  the  uneven  pile. 

One  long  glance  he  gave  at  the  beautiful,  smiling  face, 
and,  bending  down,  he  kissed  the  pictured  lips  as  sadly  as 
one  kisses  the  dead.  Then  he  rang  for  Saunders  and  or 
dered  him  to  burn  the  mass  of  cardboard.  He  shut  his 
teeth  as  if  in  pain  when  the  man  started  to  leave  the  room, 
but  resisted  the  impulse  to  call  him  back. 

With  a  deep  sigh  he  called  himself  an  idiot  and  reached 
out  for  the  bottle  of  Scotch  whiskey  near  his  elbow  and 
drew  it  toward  him. 

"I'll  take  a  drink  to  my  new  resolutions,"  he  laughed 
grimly.  "Good  Lord,  but  I'll  have  to  forget  a  lot  if  I  am 
going  to  live  happily  with  Anne. ' ' 

But  his  better  judgment  asserted  itself  and  he  left  the 
whiskey  untouched.  He  felt  a  craving  for  exercise — work — 
air,  and  hurriedly  putting  on  his  heavy  coat,  descended  to 
the  bleak,  wintry  street  and  proceeded  to  his  bankers. 

Now  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  was  wild  to  get 
started.  The  thought  of  the  sea  voyage  lured  him  and  the 
necessity  for  arranging  his  affairs  was  irritating  to  the  impa 
tient  man.  He  found  no  satisfaction  in  the  expressions  of  re 
gret  from  the  friends  he  had  once  cultivated  so  sedulously 
and  who  hated  to  lose  him  from  their  gay  circles.  He  was 
truly  "burning  his  bridges"  and  in  his  heart  wondered  at 
the  change  in  himself. 

He  engaged  passage  on  the  Normandie.  When  he  was 
leaving  Paris  he  found  a  crowd  of  good  fellows  Avaiting  to 
bid  him  "bon  voyage"  and  hoped  they  would  not  offer  to 
go  with  him  as  far  as  Havre,  but  he  need  not  have  worried, 
for  Avhen  the  train  pulled  out  they  waved  their  hats,  cried 
their  good  wishes,  and  returned  to  their  usual  haunts. 

It  was  in  the  small  hours  of  the  following  morning  when 
the  Normandie  lurched  from  the  huge  dock,  and  Crawford, 


280  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

who  had  not  slept  during  the  tiresome  night's  journey  from 
Paris,  did  not  seek  his  stateroom. 

Standing  by  the  railing,  he  watched  the  lights  and  shad 
owy  shores  of  France  fading  in  the  distance.  Until  six 
o'clock  he  remained  immovable,  then  he  went  below,  where 
he  found  Saunders  waiting  for  him.  He  freshened  himself 
and  became  conscious  of  hunger,  and  turned  into  the  dining 
salon  where  breakfast  was  being  served. 

The  sea  was  rough,  but  he  was  a  good  sailor  and  he  spent 
hours  in  his  deck  chair,  wrapped  in  furs  and  gaining  nervous 
and  physical  benefit  from  the  salt  air. 

"Everything  is  going  to  come  out  all  right,  but  my  folly 
might  have  cost  me  dearly,"  he  reasoned.  "I'll  telegraph 
to  Anne  just  as  soon  as  we  get  into  New  York.  And  I'm 
going  to  win  her  respect.  I  want  that  as  much  as  her  love. ' ' 

He  would  have  been  less  confident  had  he  known  that  his 
letter  explaining — pleading — and  promising,  had  been 
burned  with  the  photographs  of  the  woman  he  hoped  to 
forgot. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
An  Old  Wedding  Ring. 


281 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN  OLD  WEDDING  RING. 

A  small  domestic  Avar  was  raging  in  Anne's  Washington 
home.  Her  anger  against  Crawford  blazed  with  a  fury  that 
hurt  and  her  soul  raged  in  indignation  that  cried  out  in 
terror  when  she  thought  of  his  unexpected  return.  Miss 
Hamilton  was  perplexed  and  gloomily  morose  and  Dora — 
well,  when  Dora  with  tears  and  embarrassment  confessed 
that  she  and  ' '  Mr.  Hugh 's  man ' '  had  corresponded  for  years 
and  that  she  had  promised  to  marry  him,  Miss  Hamilton  was 
furious  and  astounded. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  world  is  coming  to,"  she  de 
clared.  "Dora  is  as  old  as  Ellen  MacVeety.  It  doesn't 
seem  natural  or  nice  for  old  maids  to  think  of  marriage, 
and  I  don't  know  how  Anne  can  get  along  without  her. 
Dora  wouldn't  marry  when  she  was  young.  She  said  she 
never  would  leave  us  and  why  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
should  she  want  to  marry  when  she's  middle-aged  and  set 
tled.  She's  as  silly  and  sentimental  as  Ellen  was.  Fancy 
how  absurd  it  would  be  for  me  to  trot  up  to  the  altar  and 
swear  to  love,  honor  and  obey  some  old  coot  who  had  flat 
tered  me  into  the  belief  that  he  couldn't  live  without  me 
and  who  would  revolutionize  my  whole  life. ' '  She  tried  to 
smile  at  Anne,  but  failed  miserably.  "I  offered  to  see  Hugh 
when  he  comes,  but  I  hope  it  won 't  be  necessary.  I  'd  prefer 
to  stay  in  my  rooms." 

"Do  whatever  suits  you  best,  dear.  I  have  asked  too  much 
of  you  already." 

"You  couldn't  do  that,  but  I'm  jealous.  I  can't  bear  the 
thought  that  you  are  going  to  receive  him  again.  I'm 
afraid. ' ' 

283 


284  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  He  is  not  coming  to 
make  trouble.  He  wants  a  favor.  Oh,  auntie,  I  know  him 
so  well,  but  I  can't  understand  why  he  didn't  write  and 
prepare  me." 

"Perhaps  he  didn't  think  it  necessary.  Dora  has  been 
so  deceitful  in  not  telling  us  that  she  exchanged  letters  with 
that  'gentleman's  gentleman/  very  likely  Hugh  knows  every 
move  you've  made." 

"Oh,  no.  Dora  wouldn't  do  anything  like  that.  She's 
been  devoted  to  me,  auntie — you  don't  know  how  thought 
ful.  I  think  she  must  have  been  afraid  to  tell  us  she  wanted 
to  marry." 

"What  made  her  so  courageous  all  of  a  sudden?"  Miss 
Hamilton  snorted.  ' '  It  seems  very  peculiar  to  me. ' ' 

"Saunders  must  have  written  that  he  was  coming  to 
America  with  Hugh  and  perhaps  her  love  was  stronger  than 
her  fear.  Let  her  be  happy  in  her  own  way  and  don't  bor 
row  trouble.  She  may  not  like  him  so  well  when  she  sees 
him  again." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  will.  There's  no  fool  like  an  old  maid  in 
love."  She  changed  the  subject  by  asking,  "What  time 
will  the  train  be  in  ? " 

' '  There  is  one  at  seven-fifteen.    I  hope  they  come  on  it. ' ' 

"You're  a  strange  woman,  Anne,  and  I'll  be  thankful 
when  this  night  is  past.  I  can't  understand  your  anxiety  to 
see  Hugh.  I  wish  you  wouldn 't. "  She  leaned  forward  and 
pressed  Anne 's  hands.  ' '  Don 't  think  I  am  hard,  but  I  hate 
him.  He  almost  ruined  your  life  and  I'm  afraid  you  still 
love  him." 

She  dropped  her  hands  with  an  almost  hysterical  gesture 
of  passion. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  Anne  exclaimed  contemptuously. 
"Love  him?  Why  I  hate  him!  During  the  years  since  I 
last  saw  him  I  thought  I  was  enjoying  myself — that  I  had 


AN  OLD  WEDDING  RING.  285 

forgotten — and  all  the  time  I  was  waiting  and  hoping  he 
would  conic  back  and  give  me  my  revenge — only  I  didn't 
know  it. ' ' 

"I'll  admit  I  never  did  understand  you,  dear.  I  was 
always  afraid  you  would  do  something  mad."  Miss  Hamil 
ton  rose  clumsily  from  the  deep  chair  and  moved  toward 
the  door.  She  looked  tired  and  old.  "I'm  going  to  my 
room.  I'm  worn  out  with  this  nonsense  and  I  won't  want 
any  dinner." 

Anne  moved  softly  to  her  and  slipped  her  arm  around  the 
old  lady's  waist. 

"I'll  send  Dora  with  something.  Now,  don't  worry, 
darling.  You're  not  going  to  have  a  headache  or  a  heart 
ache  and  I  will  go  to  you  and  tell  you  all  about  everything 
after  Hugh  goes,  you  dear,  darling  auntie." 

Miss  Hamilton  passed  through  the  doorway  without 
ansAvering. 

Anne  exhaled  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  threw  herself  on 
the  couch.  Her  hands  were  cold  and  she  wanted  to  cry. 
At  luncheon  she  had  eaten  nothing,  and  the  elderly  butler, 
discreetly  appearing  bereft  of  sight  and  feeling,  saw  that  his 
lady  was  laboring  under  some  great  excitement,  and  when 
he  went  to  the  kitchen,  confided  to  the  cook  that  "things 
looked  queer"  and  his  belief  that  "the  ladies  must  have 
had  a  row." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and  Dora  came  in. 

"I  want  some  tea — hot." 

"Yes,  Miss  Anne." 

After  drinking  a  steaming  cup,  Anne  felt  refreshed  and 
told  the  woman  to  lay  out  a  white  crepe  gown.  Then  she 
sent  Dora  away  and  dressed  herself  in  the  soft,  clinging 
silk,  draped  with  cobwebby  lace,  and  which  enveloped  her  in 
misty,  cloud-like  beauty. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  worn  a  white  dress  for  years, 
and  she  hoped  the  gown  would  make  Crawford  remember 


286  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

their  meeting  in  London.  She  piled  her  hair  high  on  her 
head  and  stared  approvingly  at  her  image  in  the  mirror. 
She  knew  she  looked  well,  and,  with  her  long  train  curling 
gracefully  behind  her,  descended  to  the  same  room  where 
she  had  waited  in  happy  expectation  for  Hugh  Crawford 
six  years  before. 

She  believed  that  Miss  Hamilton's  door  was  open  and  that 
the  anxious  woman  was  listening,  and  smiled  in  sympathetic 
understanding.  She  wished  her  aunt  would  volunteer  to 
come  downstairs,  for  she  missed  the  energetic  presence  and 
she  had  grown  used  to  depending  on  her  in  anxious  moments. 

The  bell  rang  several  times,  and  at  each  peal  she  shivered, 
but  she  had  given  instructions  that  she  was  home  only  to  Craw 
ford — and  nine  o'clock  struck,  and  he  had  not  come. 

She  almost  resolved  to  go  upstairs  to  her  aunt  and  refuse 
to  see  him  when  the  bell  again  rang  loudly  and  the  footman 
opened  the  door.  Anne  heard  a  well  remembered  voice  and 
overcome  by  her  feelings,  turned  to  the  window  and  threw 
aside  the  hangings,  trying  to  breathe  in  the  cooler  air. 

And  Hugh  was  in  the  room,  looking — peering  at  her. 

He  was  tired  from  his  journey  and  still  wore  his  travel 
ling  clothes.  He  had  entered  the  room  without  ceremony,  his 
nerves  strained  to  their  highest  pitch  and  Anne  stepped  back 
closer  to  the  curtains  with  a  sudden  instinct  of  terror. 

At  first  glance  he  appeared  the  same.  The  years  of  absence 
had  not  seemed  to  alter  him,  but  the  second  look  showed  his 
countenance  pale  and  chiseled  with  lines  of  dissipation.  Anne 
noticed  the  wrinkles  about  his  eyes — such  tired,  haunted  eyes, 
and  her  fear  was  dispelled,  for  they  no  longer  flashed  compell- 
ingly  into  hers,  and  he  looked  what  he  was,  a  man  young  in 
years,  but  weary  and  world- worn. 

And  Hugh  Crawford.  The  dreaded  mist  came  across  his 
eyes  when  he  entered  the  room  and  to  his  darkened  vision  Anne 
looked  as  young  and  alluring  as  a  girl,  while  for  the  second 


AN  OLD  WEDDING  RING.  287 

time  in  his  life,  he  thought  her  the  most  desirable  woman  in 
the  world. 

' '  Anne, ' '  he  cried  in  his  familiarly  musical  voice,  and  hum 
bly  as  a  child  stumbling  toward  her,  "Oh,  Anne,  why  don't 
you  come  to  me?  Don't  you  forgive  me?  I  need  you  so." 

Sonvething  snapped  in  his  head  and  a  shudder  ran  through 
the  strong  man  while  he  groped  in  frenzied  horror. 

"Oh!  Oh!  this  is  terrible!  What  is  the  matter?  What  is 
it?"  Anne  exclaimed. 

Her  voice  broke  and  her  anger  was  overcome  by  surprise 
and  pity.  Her  face  was  pitifully  distorted  and  she  instinc 
tively  seized  Crawford's  hands  while  she  gazed  into  the  sight 
less  eyes  with  astonished  amazement. 

She  did  not  know  that  the  sword  had  fallen — that  the 
threatened  affliction  had  come. 

"Anne!  Anne!"  he  cried  wildly.  "It  is  dark — I  cannot 
see — I  am  afraid.  It  was  never  like  this  before.  Help  me — 
help  me.  What  shall  I  do!" 

"Please — please  try  to  be  calm — I  beg  of  you,  Hugh." 

"Do  not  leave  me.    I  will  die  without  you,  Anne." 

She  put  her  arms  around  him  with  a  sudden,  fierce  move 
ment,  as  when  a  mother  guards  her  babe  from  disaster  and 
tears  streamed  down  her  face. 

"I  am  here — don't  be  frightened,  Hugh,"  she  said  quietly. 
"I  will  not  leave  you.  Where  is  Saunders — I  must  send  for 
a  doctor." 

"Anne!"  His  arms  tightened  around  her,  "You  are  my 
wife?" 

"Yes,"  she  tried  to  utter  a  word  of  endearment,  but  could 
not,  though  all  her  hate  and  bitter  hopes  of  revenge  were  lost 
in  compassion. 

For  an  instant  Crawford  stopped  shaking  and  sobbing 
while  he  felt  the  comfort  of  her  arms,  but  the  silence  was 
only  momentary  and  he  flung  his  arms  wildly,  clasping  and 
unclasping  his  hands,  frenzied  by  the  fearful  darkness. 


"It  is  the  end.  I  know  it  is  the  end.  I  was  warned — 
but  it  is  too  late  now — it  is  too  late  now,"  he  wailed,  then 
his  mood  changed  into  fury,  the  obstinacy  and  unreason 
ableness  of  his  nature  aroused — his  old  self  still  clinging  to 
him.  "I  will  kill  myself — I  will  not  live" — but  again  the 
fury  was  spent  and  he  knelt  at  her  feet  crying — the  awful, 
gasping  sobs  of  a  desperate  man  wailing  his  misery.  ' '  I  am 
blind!  I  am  blind!" 

He  clung  to  her  in  wild  appeal  and  Anne's  heart  was 
almost  bursting  and  she  stooped  and  kissed  his  wet  eyes. 
She  was  not  surprised  to  see  that  her  aunt  was  in  the 
room. 

"Send  for  Doctor  von  Soiron,  auntie,  and  come  back  to 
me." 

Anger  was  forgotten  and  Miss  Hamilton  hurried  away  to 
return  in  a  few  minutes  and  quietly  shut  the  door. 

"Auntie  is  here  with  us,  Hugh,"  Anne  said.  "You  must 
}  e  brave.  We  will  be  with  you  and  the  darkness  will  soon 
pass,"  but  in  her  heart  Anne  Crawford  knew  that  it  would 
not. 

' '  Promise  me, ' '  he  pleaded,  pitifully.   ' '  Promise  me,  dear. ' ' 

"I  will  not  leave  you.  I  promise,"  she  answered  dis 
tinctly.  "Don't  give  way,  Hugh.  Be  a  man — for  my  sake. 
It  is  not  like  you  to  fear.  How  long  have  you  been  like  this 
and  where  is  Saunders?  He  should  not  have  left  you." 

"It  was  never  like  this  before — never.    I  am  afraid." 

She  drew  him  to  his  feet  and  led  him  to  a  chair  which 
Miss  Hamilton  drew  forward  and  stared  into  the  sightless 
eyes  that  held  such  blank  misery  in  their  blue  depths,  com 
prehending  that  Hugh  Crawford  might  never  escape  from 
the  terrible  blackness. 

"Anne,  will  you  marry  me  again?  Will  you?  Will  you?" 

She  closed  her  eyes  with  a  feeling  of  desperation  and  Miss 
Hamilton's  eyes  narrowed  with  emotion. 

"We  will  go  back  home  together,  Hugh.    Back  to  the  old 


AN  OLD  WEDDING  RING.  289 

place  iii  La  Conner  and  you  will  be  well  and  happy  again. 
You  are  worn  out — that's  all.  We'll  go  back  to  our  old 
friends — to  our  own  people." 

Miss  Hamilton  with  bent  head  silently  left  the  room,  one 
hand  held  to  her  heart  and  in  her  eyes  a  world  of  sorrow. 

Saunders  was  dumfounded  at  his  master's  affliction  and 
coughed  and  shivered  out  in  the  cold,  while  he  watched  for 
the  doctor.  Dora,  wrapped  in  a  shawl  shivered  beside  him. 

"Perhaps  it's  just  a  nervous  attack,"  he  said  pathetically. 
' '  Go  back  into  the  house,  Dora,  my  girl.  Go  to  her — the  poor 
thing.  It's  very  sad  for  the  mistress." 

When  von  Soiron  came  in  immediate  response  to  Miss  Ham 
ilton's  message,  Saunders  opened  the  door  of  the  car  and  the 
great  man  carefully  listened  to  the  words  of  the  valet. 

"I'm  afraid  it  has  gone  too  far,  but  I  must  see  him.  The"re 
may  be  a  chance  for  him  yet. ' ' 

He  was  talking  to  himself  for  Saunders  with  averted  face 
x  was  walking  sorrowfully  towards  the  servant's  entrance. 

When  von  Soiron  entered  the  drawing-room,  Anne  ran 
to  meet  him.  Her  face  appeared  to  have  shrunk  and  she 
looked  as  helpless  as  a  child  but  her  heart  was  strong  and  a 
bewildering  gratefulness  that  Hugh  had  reached  her,  mingled 
with  intense  pity.  Again  he  was  hers.  Her  man. 

When  the  doctor  finished  his  examination  he  took  Anne 
aside  and  looked  down  at  her,  pityingly. 

' '  Nothing  can  be  done  at  present,  I  am  grieved  to  tell  you. 
There  will  be  no  pain  but  he  will  suffer  horribly  from  nerves. 
I  will  send  medicine  that  will  quiet  him  for  a  few  hours  and 
his  man  had  better  remain  with  him.  A  nurse  would  irritate 
him.  He  is  going  to  find  it  very  hard  to  become  used  to  the 
darkness — and  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Crawford.  It 
is  too  bad  it  happened  here  for  I  'm  afraid  to  excite  him — and 
he  should  stay  here  for  a  day — or  until  tomorrow.  He  must 
have  absolute  rest." 


290 

"We  are  going  to  be  married  tonight  so  there  will  be  no 
necessity  of  his  leaving  his  home.  He  is  my  husband,  doc 
tor." 

"Well!  Well!"  gasped  the  friendly  German.  "I  am  very 
glad  of  that.  Try  to  keep  up  his  courage.  Won 't  you  find  it 
a  heavy  task,  Mrs.  Crawford?" 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  Anne  answered  with  gentle  dignity. 

It  was  almost  midnight  and  Crawford,  pale  and  with  white 
lips,  was  lying  back  in  a  great  chair,  but  Anne's  eyes  shone 
like  stars  as  she  nestled  against  his  shoulder,  her  heart  beat 
ing  with  yearning — the  wild,  wonderful,  tender,  maternal 
love  of  a  wife. 

Crawford  commenced  to  murmur  prayers  for  forgivenness, 
but  Anne,  whose  soul  had  endured  such  agony,  stooped  her 
head  and  stopped  his  words  with  her  face  against  his  lips. 

"Everything  is  gone  and  past.  You  are  again  my  boy 
lover,  my  husband,  and  at  last  you  have  come  for  me  and  we 
are  going  home  together." 

They  were  waiting  for  the  clergyman,  and  to  Anne  it  was 
the  longest  hour  of  her  existence. 

"If  I  could  only  live  over  some  of  the  years  of  my  life," 
Crawford  said  remorsefully.  "I  have  burned  the  candle  at 
both  ends  and  bring  only  the  remains  to  you,  dear,  and  I 
promised  to  love  and  protect — " 

"Don't!  Oh,  Hugh,  don't!  Everything  is  going  to  be 
different  now." 

"But  I'd  rather  be  honest  and  tell  you  everything." 

"I  don't  want  to  know." 

She  put  her  hands  across  his  lips. 

The  minister  had  arrived  and  was  coming  into  the  room 
with  Miss  Hamilton,  Dora  and  Saunders  to  act  as  witnesses. 

Anne  looked  like  a  girl  dressed  for  her  bridal,  with  her 
white,  filmy  dress  falling  around  her,  and  bravely  stood  beside 
the  tall,  handsome  man  with  white  face  and  sorrowful  eyes. 

For  the  first  time  she  removed  her  wedding  ring  from  the 


'  AX  OLD  WEDDING  RING.  291 

finger  on  which  Crawford  had  placed  it  seven  years  before. 
She  slipped  it  into  his  hand  and  when  the  pastor  closed  the 
Bible  and  gave  his  blessing,  Hugh  Crawford  held  his  wife 
again  in  his  arms  and  whispered : 

"For  better  and  worse,  my  darling." 

"Until  death  us  do  part,"  she  answered,  and  turned  to 
place  her  aunt's  hand  in  Hugh's,  but  the  much-tried  woman 
reached  up  and  kissed  him  heartily  and  gave  place  to  the  two 
servitors  who  had  been  with  Anne  and  Hugh  Crawford  dur- 
ii-«jr  i|:rji'  stormy  past. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
Successful. 


293 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SUCCESSFUL. 

Hugh  Crawford's  unexpected  blindness  upset  all  Anne's 
plans  and  carried  her  out  of  herself.  With  the  sensitive 
ness  of  her  affectionate  nature  she  divined  the  miserable 
shrinking  that  made  him  nervous  and  held  him  aloof  from 
everyone  but  herself  and  she  talked  cheerfully  of  the  things 
around  them,  never  taking  the  attitude  that  she  was  sorry 
for  him  or  remembered  his  blindness. 

Her  tender  consideration  was  balm  to  his  soul  and  drew 
him  out  of  the  depths  of  morbidness  and  melancholy.  He 
learned  to  love  the  sound  of  her  voice,  to  listen  for  her  foot 
step  and  a  feeling  of  triumph  gladdened  him  that,  in  spite  of 
his  affliction,  she  loved  him. 

Doctor  von  Soiron's  words,  "I  am  afraid  nothing  can  be 
done  at  present,"  beat  through  Anne's  head  during  the 
months  following.  "I  am  afraid  that  nothing  can  be  done  at 
present,"  was  not  a  positive  declaration  that  all  hope  was 
gone  and  a  wild  desire  to  have  the  great  occulist  take  up  Craw 
ford 's  case,  made  her  decide  to  plead  with  Hugh  to  submit  to 
another  examination — and  perhaps  an  operation. 

A  sense  of  fear  and  pity  held  her  back  from  taking  action. 
Suppose  her  hopes  were  unfounded?  Was  it  more  merciful 
to  leave  him  alone? — he  was  becoming  accustomed  to  the 
darkness.  She  put  aside  her  doubts  and  made  up  her  mind  to 
speak  to  him. 

' '  I  have  been  to  see  Doctor  von  Soiron  and  he  wants  to  ex 
amine  you  again — there  may  be  hope, ' '  she  said,  breathlessly. 

Crawford's  face  grew  anxious — eager,  yet  there  was  fear 
and  indecision  in  it.  Suddenly  he  held  out  his  hand  in  the 
pathetic,  uncertain  way  of  the  blind. 

295 


296  RETURN  OF  HUGH  CRAWFORD 

"Anne,  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  hope,"  he  cried,  "but 
I  will  do  just  as  you  say.  Do  you  want  me  to  consent  to  an 
operation  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes,  dear.  You  will  never  know  anything  about  that  part 
of  it.  The  doctor  will  know  exactly  what  to  do  and  when  to 
do  it.  Operations  are  not  what  they  used  to  be — and  there 
will  be  little  or  no  pain.  And  we  would  be  sure.  It  is  better 
to  know  the  truth."  Her  voice  was  tragic.  If  God  in  His 
mercy  restored  Crawford's  sight,  he  would  not  need  her — 
would  not  be  dependent  on  her,  but,  with  a  sob  in  her  throat, 
she  cried  impulsively,  "Yes,  I  do  want  you  to  consent.  I  am 
convinced  you  will  see  again." 

' '  But  if  it  should  fail  ? "  he  said,  in  an  anguished  voice.  ' '  If 
your  hopes  were  false?" 

"Oh,  Hugh,  take  a  chance,"  she  begged,  impulsively.  "Take 
the  risk!" 

Crawford,  pale  and  trembling,  exclaimed,  "Yes!  yes!  I 
will.  I  want  to  see  again.  Oh,  God  in  heaven,  give  me  back 
my  sight." 

Thus  his  consent  was  gained  and  the  operation  took  place 
in  September,  for  von  Soiron,  while  not  holding  out  hope,  said 
there  might  be  a  chance.  The  operation  proved  a  startling 
success  and  the  doctors  were  of  the  opinion  that  Crawford's 
sight  would  be  fairly  well  restored  though  he  would  have  to 
exercise  great  care  and  wear  special  glasses. 

A  week  passed  and  tests  had  been  satisfactory  and  in  a 
month  the  swathes  were  to  be  taken  from  his  eyes.  Gradu 
ally  glimpses  of  light  were  allowed  and  the  bandages  were  re 
moved  for  a  few  minutes — just  to  let  him  realize  that  he  could 
see  and  after  each  experiment  von  Soiron  was  more  and 
more  certain  that  the  operation  was  splendidly  successful. 
When  the  bandages  were  lifted  Crawford  had  been  permitted 
to  see  the  doctor  and  nurses,  but  he  had  not  seen  his  wife. 
Now  they  were  to  be  removed  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 


SUCCESSFUL.  297 

It  was  a  clear,  sunshiny  morning.  The  doctor  bent  over 
Crawford,  looking  into  his  face  as  the  nurse  removed  the  soft 
strips  of  cotton  until  almost  all  were  removed,  then  he  silently 
left  the  white  hospital  room  where  Crawford  was  patiently 
sitting  with  his  back  to  the  window  and  motioned  for  Anne 
to  enter.  Very  slowly  the  last  bandage  was  removed  and 
Hugh  Crawford  looked  into  his  wife's  face. 

"Anne,"  he  sobbed.  "Thank  God,  I  can  see  you,  my  dar 
ling,"  and  as  she  slowly  drew  nearer,  his  face  whitened.  He 
made  a  quick  movement  and  gathered  her  in  his  arms,  looking 
into  her  beautiful  eyes  burning  with  love  and  pride. 

"Oh,  I  will  never  run  away  from  you  again — I  can't  live 
without  you,  Hugh."  She  whispered  something  that  brought 
an  exclamation  of  delighted  surprise  from  Crawford's  lips 
and  under  the  bewildered  happiness  of  his  gaze,  Anne's  cheeks 
flushed  and  her  eyes  grew  misty.  ' '  I  did  not  want  to  tell  you 
before  and — I  was  not  sure,  but  that  is  why  I  wanted  the 
operation  now — I  wanted  you  to  see." 

"I  can't  believe  it  all,"  he  cried.  "I  never  hoped  for  this 
and  to  think  that  I  should  learn  of  it  on  this  blessed  day. ' ' 

There  was  something  so  full  of  absolute  happiness  in  Anne's 
face  that  Crawford  was  silenced  for  the  moment. 

In  the  next  room  the  doctor  waited  until  the  minute  hand 
registered  the  quarter  hour,  then  he  closed  his  watch  and  with 
a  cheery  word  on  his  lips,  entered  the  room  and  re-adjusted  the 
bandages  over  Crawford's  eyes. 

But  in  the  darkness  Hugh  Crawford  could  picture  his 
wife's  face  and  with  unspeakable  happiness  and  exquisite 
tenderness  he  felt  her  hand  in  his  and  realized  that  his  love 
for  her  had  made  the  world  a  paradise. 


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-  _ 


f 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  924  438     5 


